The Carrier
by RaiRoRa
Summary: A couple of years have passed since the TV show ended and life has returned to normal in Louisiana. For now. A contingent of European vampires is on its way to New Orleans to shake up vampire affairs and the American vampires are not impressed.
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

Prologue

I cleared my throat and looked into the footlights. Beyond, I could see the pale smudges of vampire faces. Shuffling my notes, I looked out into the darkness of the Dallas auditorium and began.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming this evening and taking the time to hear what we have to say. I am Magdalena Kennick. As I am sure many of you will have noted, I am not vampire. If you were turned in Europe or have attained a certain vintage -"

I thought I heard a snicker and I was heartened.

"-or, more specifically, if you were turned before the Second Council in 1947, you may recognize my name as one of the Five Families. For those of you who don't know who we are, the Five Families are the Kennicks, the Ardelean clan of Romania, the Romarros, the Jägers and the Helsaig, who were the inspiration for the Van Helsing family of popular legend. Originally these families, and I'm sorry to say mine included, were known to vampires as ruthless hunters and killers who staked hundreds of vampires under orders from the Catholic Church. However, by the time the Great Council was called in London in 1667, a truce had been called between the Five and the vampire authorities. In exchange for protection, the Five Families became vampire allies. They no longer focused on large-scale vampire killings, but rather on selective culling, based on rulings passed by the Great Council. Initially they started by reducing vampire populations in regions where numbers had risen dramatically, often in connection with famine, disease or revolution. In time, however, the vampire authorities sought to control their own, but many members of the Five Families stayed on as advisors or arbitrators. After the Second Council, we largely took a step back and nowadays our families nowadays mostly work behind the scenes for the vampire duchies across Europe."

I paused for breath and looked out blindly. I could not tell whether they were listening or had simply gone into vampire stand-by mode. The silence told me nothing.

I drew breath, one of the few beings in the hall needing to do so, and continued, "I understand that a term like 'the Five Families' means little to many of you in this wonderful country, on this beautiful continent. For some of you, the Five Families might be a throwback to a less pleasant part of your personal history. In fact, I'm sure a number of you came here specifically to get away from us."  
There were no laughs. I had held this speech a dozen times and there was never even a chuckle. I sighed inwardly and lowered my voice to become more serious.  
"We are aware that our being here - the Council of Empire of Europe and Northern Africa, along with representatives of the Five Families - might be construed as interference in American vampire affairs. Please be sure assured that this is far, far from the case. We are here because we believe that the Vampire Charter is something that vampires everywhere, all over the world, in every territory, kingdom or empire must agree to. Its purpose is not to restrict the power of individual rulers, but to ensure that all vampires have the same rights to the dignity of person as humans do. Humans have the UN Charter of Human Rights. It is time there was a universal Charter of Vampire Rights."

When I had first practised my speech in front of a mirror, I had paused for the rousing applause that I thought would come. None ever came. The reactions ranged from awkward chair-shuffling to the fake clearing of the throat that some vampires were still wont to do out of habit, even if they physically had no need. I bit my lower lip then smiled brightly into the footlights.

"But I am not here to tell you about the Charter, my job is to introduce the vampires who have been instrumental in drawing it up. My task as a representative of the Five is to underline our full support for this movement and it is our hope that we can persuade you to get behind it as well. For this reason, I will thank you for your attention and introduce to you, with the greatest of honour, to our Empress, Moya of Europe."

I stood back and bowed low, as I had been instructed, to the Empress as she ascended the podium and then took my seat beside the old Transylvanian Tomas Ardelean. The Empress and I had laughed ourselves silly when I'd practised it, but she'd nonetheless been the one who insisted that I do it. Protocol was protocol after all, and she had only been Empress for three years – she needed to assert her authority a little bit more. She winked at me in passing, the briefest flicker of her eyelid. As she looked over her notes with the eerie, silent calm that vampires possess even at the most stressful times, the screen behind her silently lit up. As I took my seat I saw Stephen, responsible for tech support throughout the tour, click the mouse of his laptop, preparing her Power Point presentation to go. We had done this all over the United States, it had long since become routine. Nonetheless I looked for his boss and my godmother Ilaria by his side and waited to get her thumbs up before I could relax. Both of their faces were focused on the Empress, watching her intently. Moya Kennedy was a brilliant orator. If anyone could persuade the American vampire population to sign up for the Charter of Vampire Rights, then it was her.

Or that, at least, is what we had thought when we began. It was proving far more difficult than we thought. She gave her speech, she showed the slides with the statistics about vampire population, procreation and control, then she outlined the main points of the Charter and the extent of its potential influence … and power. As on every stop of our tour so far, this part did not go down well. Vampires in the New World had been used to an almost tribal system of government, whereby each state or area had generally been almost self-governing. They'd had a Vampire Authority which had essentially spent decades trying to rein its wayward vampires in, before it had ultimately imploded. The United States had many kings, queens and councillors, but was without a single leadership figure or High Council, and it looked like they liked it that way. Now this Charter was suggesting a unified method of government worldwide, with a global Council for Vampire Affairs and a universal charter. The American vampires, we were discovering, were not impressed.

Up until now, our vampire audiences had been cautious about revealing how they felt. They listened politely, out of respect, and saved their curiosity, criticism or bile till the Q&A at the end. See, I'd thought acceptance of the Charter would be a given. Vampires lived side by side with humans, they'd seen the value of the UN Charter of Human Rights, surely they could understand the necessity of a vampire-driven Charter of Vampire Rights. But to my surprise, a lot of the American vampires were wary of an authority – any authority. Ultimately, our vampire audiences knew they would have the right to vote on the issue, so maybe that's why we'd never encountered open resistance or rebellion. Up until now in Dallas.

When Moya finished, she paused and looked around the silent auditorium – they never clapped, that was nothing new – and waited for the first question. And when it came she was not pleased.  
 _"Cui bono?"_ came the shout. _"Imperatrix! Cui bono?"_  
It was in Latin, the traditional language of vampire affairs in the empire she now ruled, a sign that the vampires listening disapproved of this new Empress and her temerity.  
 _"Cui bono?"_ sounded the echo of vampire voices across the room.  
 _"Imperatrix! Cui bono?"_ \- Empress! Who benefits?  
More and more voices took up the cry, till the room resonated with the chant, _"Cui bono? Cui bono? Cui bono?"_

It frightened me, the atmosphere was suddenly threatening, ugly. We, the other members of the Five Families, looked at Tomas Ardelean for help. He was the only one of us with any experience of these big vampire gatherings: he'd attended a few in his eighty or so years.  
"We leave now," he said, standing up, his gnarled hand firmly around the top of his walking stick. "Before they drain us."  
He exited, with the four of us close behind. When I looked back, the Empress was still standing behind the podium, her hand raised to silence the crowd, but they were ignoring her. What we had long suspected now seemed to be true. The American vampires were not keen on the idea of the Charter. Not at all.


	2. Chapter 2

I

My family has always had connections to the vampire community in Dublin – in fact, a number of my older relatives had worked with the former Emperor or worked in some capacity for the European vampire council. I'd spent my childhood attending vampire ceremonies with my parents or grandparents: the crowning of some little prince here or some princess there. Lots of pomp and ceremony and far too much Latin. All of the old rituals were performed in the language that had once been the _lingua franca_ of Europe's churches and its undead. I'd visited my grandfather at work in the archive of the Vampire Headquarters in Dublin and in my teens had a summer job helping my Uncle James sort the thousands of index cards that contained information about the vampire residents in the territory of the old Emperor, Charles. The vampires were always friendly towards me, they liked to stroke my hair and smell my skin. Some of them dropped fang on request, so I could stare baldly at their mouths, fascinated and repulsed in equal measure.

I'd never shown much interest in vampire administration as a career choice; in fact, when I was old enough to make my own choices, I'd preferred to steer clear of them and go about my life pretending I never knew they existed, pretending that my godmother Ilaria just looked remarkably good for her age (and, to be fair, she did: she'd been turned in the Dark Ages) and pretending that the whole 'Twilight' and 'Vampire Diaries' craze was a huge lark. Even after the Great Revelation, I managed to make all the right noises: _Imagine! Vampires! Living among us!_ etc but I still saw no need to step into the family business and become _au fait_ with their affairs. It wasn't for want of trying on their part. At every family occasion Ilaria bemoaned my decision to turn my back on my "true calling". As one of the Five Families and a carrier as well, I would've found myself a nice vampire companion or mate and worked my way up their very lucrative career ladder – vampires reward loyal humans very handsomely. They need us more than we need them and they acknowledge it with a fat pay check and a job for life.

Instead, I got a job as an archivist at one of Ireland's National Museums – my history degree and a postgrad in librarian studies kind of make that an ideal job, boring and all, though it may sound. I met a nice man with a beating pulse and we got married. We bought an expensive house in one of Dublin's suburbs at the height of Ireland's economic boom … and settled down into domestic bliss.

Except that five years later, my marriage was in ruins, my job had been cut back to part-time and I was living in a house that was worth half of what we paid for it and was being sold out beneath me, as per the terms of our split. All of my belongings were stowed carelessly in a collection of large packing boxes and my husband was living with his new lover in her city-centre lovenest, while I dealt with an angry bank that was wondering why we were defaulting on our enormous mortgage.

It wasn't my fault, I'd thought, but it ended up being my fault anyway. I didn't do anything, I'd thought, but my not doing anything turned out to be me doing everything – and doing everything all wrong.

In retrospect, the whole thing was doomed from the start. My husband – my ex-husband – differed on one huge issue. Fruit of Our Loins: Yay or Nay? You see, I've never wanted children. Not really. I couldn't picture myself as a mother. I didn't feel a yearning for a baby , my ovaries didn't flip when I caught a whiff of talcum powder, and my biological clock might have been digital because I didn't hear any ticking. My husband – my ex-husband – Seán, however, was born to be a father. He even told me on our first date that he wanted lots of kids, four or five even.  
"You'll be looking after them, then," I'd said shortly.  
"Oh, I will," he answered – and he meant it. When we got married, I allowed myself to be talked into starting a family. Seán was prepared to give up his job and become a stay-at-home-father so I could continue working at the museum.  
"But that's not the point," I'd argued. "The whole becoming a mother thing. The pregnancy. The hormones. The _birth_." I shuddered. "And then … "

I couldn't put the rest of it into words. The baby. The childhood. What if I wasn't good enough? What if I did it all wrong? What if I couldn't love my children? And what if – this was the hardest – what if I _did_ love them? That visceral, primal love they say you feel for your own blood, and then something happened to them? How would we _cope_?

Seán didn't understand my obsession with death. But then, he knew nothing about the vampire community I'd grown up on the fringes of. It was all about death and the undead, never about life and living. So he just took me in his arms and pressed me against his broad shoulders.  
"That will all change," he said. "I promise you. When you hold that baby in your arms, you'll know that you were born to be a mother."

I had my doubts. But marriage is about compromise, isn't it? And so I was prepared to compromise on possibly the worst issue a woman should, just for the sake of peace.

But then, ironically, I got a kind of unwanted peace, because I didn't get pregnant. Not at first, then not at all. No false alarms, no miscarriages – nothing. We joked about it – ho ho ho, we'd better try harder, wink wink nudge nudge. Then we tried tracking cycles and temperatures and having scheduled sex. Oh, yes. Just when you thought having sex with the Damocles' Sword of Pregnancy could not get any more desirable, throw rigid scheduling into the mix and stir well with a vaginal thermometer.

But, still, nothing. It started to stress Seán and at some point it even began to irritate me. Why wasn't I getting pregnant? What was wrong with me? Was my desire not to get pregnant preventing me from doing so? I know Seán thought so. In the midst of a heated argument, he told me that "changing my attitude" would "go a long way" towards making us parents. I cried hot, bitter tears. He was putting into words what I feared myself. Our future phantom baby was staying away because he knew that Mummy didn't want him. The contraception was happening in my head.

Finally, under protest, I was taken to a doctor. Seán was confident that we could sort things out with the help of the white-coated Expert.  
"He's a fertility boffin," Seán reassured me. "He's THE man in his field."  
THE man in his field just made matters worse. He ran his tests and established that the problem did not lie with me, but rather with Seán. It turned out that I was not having spermicidal thoughts, after all.

I was relieved, of course I was. And Suddenly the burden of the non-pregnancy seemed to slip from my shoulder on to Seán's. He was devastated, he even cried – and I had never seen him cry before. I did what I thought was best by trying to fix it. I summoned the entirety of my librarian and archiving super-skills and researched artificial insemination and sperm donors and adoption. I created folders with sub-sections and colour-coded tabs, I wrote emails and read websites and joined online support groups. I borrowed books from the library and read them assiduously, taking notes and writing post-its. I became an expert myself.

And Seán watched TV.

One day I came home from work and found him leafing through my folder. He continued to do so, wordlessly, while I chattered about my day, getting something ready for dinner.  
"Maggie," he said and I dropped the spatula. It was that kind of _Maggie_.  
Turns out, our marriage was over because he'd been having an affair for months. He'd practically been _forced_ to have an affair because of my energetic busyness. I had apparently being been reproaching him for his lack of viable sperm. I had made him feel inadequate and less of a man by being all - oh, the spitting bitterness - _supportive_ and _helpful_.

I was floored. I apologized. I cried. I suggested compromises and counselling and I tried to fix what I had broken when I'd been busy fixing what had been broken before. But even as I was sobbing into a dishcloth, watching the hard-faced stranger I'd woken up beside that morning, I knew my marriage was in shambles. He pulled a packed suitcase out from underneath the stairs and left me that evening, calling a taxi so I would have the car for work next morning.

I took sick leave from work and cried for two days. On the third day I crawled out of bed at dusk. I took a shower and walked to the local supermarket (I was in no fit state to drive a car), each small step causing me such heartbreak that I had to lean against the wall of the car park to simply swallow the pain before I went in to buy a litre of milk and a loaf of bread. Then I trudged home. I was struggling to find the key of the front door in my pocket, and struggling even harder not to start crying – why was everything so hard? Why were my keys hiding on me? Why was I stuck outside my front door in the cold and rain? – when a hand tapped me on my shoulder. I turned with a gasp and found myself face to face with Ilaria.

"Child," she said.  
And then I did start to cry. I let the plastic bag with my few meagre groceries fall to the ground and she pulled me in close. She has no physical warmth but to me she has a smell – not the smell of her shampoo or perfume, but the smell of her skin. It's the smell of the warm dust of somewhere foreign, where cardamom or curry particles mix with the air that warms in the midday heat. No wonder, as she was turned in Morocco many centuries ago. I can smell the North African air from her still-smooth skin. It's a talent neither she nor most other vampires appreciate, as though my ability to smell some part of their past, of who they were, allowed me special access to their secrets.

Ilaria fished my keys out of my pocket – there they were, naughty keys – and led me inside. She'd lived in Ireland long enough to know how to make a decent cup of tea and when to offer one, so within minutes I was sitting in front of a hot mug, the milk was uncapped and I had a slice of toast on a plate in front of me. I poured milk in my tea and told Ilaria the whole sorry story, even though she'd heard it all before from my mother. In fact, it was my mother who'd insisted that Ilaria have a good talking with me and urge me to take a sabbatical.

"There's a huge vampire congress in New Orleans just before Christmas," Ilaria said. God, Christmas. It was only September. I didn't even want to think about Christmas – my first Christmas as a single woman. The tears started to rise in me again.  
"It will be the biggest vampire congress since the Great Council in 1667. We're trying to get the world's vampires to agree to a code of conduct, a charter, that will ensure that councils, authorities, empires and kingdoms will agree to a certain set of basic rules to eliminate some of the mediaeval practices that are unfortunately still commonplace."  
"Such as?" I asked, hugging my mug of tea. I was trying to concentrate on Ilaria and not think about last Christmas: the tree, the laughter, the jokes about having a little one at Christmas next year, visits from Santa Claus, Christmas lists -  
 _Shutupshutupshutup_ I said to my mind.  
"Such as de-fanging," Ilaria said. "Officially, for example, it is frowned upon in the United States, but individual states practice it freely, while others have banned it. It's rampant in South America but forbidden in Canada. Or culling: some countries carefully monitor vampire numbers and authorities take it upon themselves to cull younger vampires if a certain number is exceeded."  
"Cull?"  
Ilaria made a fist and thumped herself in the chest. I understood instantly. We humans might drag a finger across our neck to show that we meant decapitation, but vampires imitate a stabbing to show they mean being staked.  
"Widespread culling," she said.  
"That's barbaric."  
"Exactly. So our new Empress has managed to achieve the near impossible we will have gathered representatives of most of the major global territories and we will present our charter. But before we do so, we need to go on a little public relations tour in the United States. The Empress sees us visiting each and every kingdom to talk to the vampires personally and show them why this charter is vital to our survival."  
"Why do you need to go to every state in the US?" I wondered.  
"Because the US has the largest vampire population in the world. If the American vampires get behind it, the others will follow suit. We have planned a six-week tour of the continental United States for this very purpose."  
She looked very proud of herself.  
"And why do you need a librarian at this glam-fest?" I asked.

Ilaria ahemed delicately and twisted one of her rings.  
"Actually," she said, "we need you there as a Kennick."  
"I'm a Kennick in name only," I said. "You know I don't do the whole Five Families deal."  
Ilaria gave me a sharp don't-be-naughty look and I withered under her gaze.

"This will be the biggest public relations campaign we have ever undertaken. The Empress would very much like a member of each of the Five Families to be present, showing their support. She has engaged Tomas Ardelean, Petro Romarro, Hans-Peter Jäger and Sonja Helsaig. She kindly requests that you be there, too."  
There was a lot to process in there. The Empress had no dominion over me, per se. She wasn't _my_ empress. She could request all she wanted. However, she was the employer of half-a-dozen of my relatives and contributed handsomely to my grandfather's pension.  
"Why not James?" I asked, referring to my uncle James, who worked at the vampire headquarters in Dublin.  
Ilaria pulled a face. "Really?" she asked. "James? _Really_?"

James was in his fifties. He'd never got married and still lived with my grandmother, whose last act every morning before he left the house was to make sure he'd put his clothes on properly and combed his hair. He was not exactly the man you'd want to roll out on a campaign to influence others.  
"You're good-looking," Ilaria said – which was a blatant lie. She was always sighing over my wayward red hair and my Kennick inability to ever look anything but slightly dishevelled. See, my grandmother had good reason to check Uncle James before he went to work. We always manage to look slightly scruffy.  
"No, really, you're pretty," (She stumbled over that lie. I am … interesting. Seán used to say I looked like a leprechaun's daughter: freckled and cheeky. This is not 'pretty' in most people's books.) "You're the best orator we have from the Families; the empress went to see you speak at the historical society's evening about the Civil War and she was very impressed. You're young, you're clever. And you're a carrier."  
Aha. There it was.  
Ilaria was twisting her diamond ring more rapidly now. "I won't beat about the bush, Maggie. We all know you're a carrier and the Empress would like to talk to you specifically about …" – she bit her lip – "Harnessing your talent."

Let me digress here for a moment. The Five Families' desire to annihilate – and later align themselves with – vampires stemmed not from an intrinsic desire to wipe out the undead. Rather, they were forced into a position of aggressive self-defence by their ability to 'carry' taste in their blood. Apparently, we taste of what we've eaten, which makes us quite delicious to vampires when we've gorged ourselves on sweet things and alcohol. Not surprisingly, we embrace world cuisines with high levels of garlic, as we can be just as repulsive to vampires after a nice plate of gyros or a big, fat döner kebab. It's not an all too uncommon ability, apparently, but as the Five Families have pretty much kept to themselves and their extensive network of distant relations, so our "talent" tends to be a bit more concentrated. Hence the term 'carrier' and the Empress' bright idea to use my delicious blood for some kind of publicity purposes.

"Ilaria," I said sternly. "What are you going to suggest? That I come along as some kind of marketing gag?"  
Ilaria was appalled. "You've met the Empress!" she said. "You surely don't think she would suggest something like that!"  
I have met her. She's lovely. She would never suggest something like that. I felt bad for suggesting it.

"She would like to book you for three feeds and ten vials of blood. She will pay you handsomely. The feeds will be contracted five-minute feeds to American vampires in strategic positions. Nothing less than the rank of king, queen or high councillor. The vials of blood will be taken here in Dublin and presented as tribute to less strategic vampires. Again, nothing less than the rank of king, queen or high councillor. This is her promise."  
Her reassurance that my blood would be given to high-ranking vampires was a sign of respect. Or, rather, _Respect_. Vampires are all into that - rank, hierarchy, tribute, and general cap-doffing.

Ilaria produced a single sheet of paper from her handbag. On it was an itemized list of all of the duties expected of me on their six-week US tour, including the three feeds and the blood. I skimmed through it. Public talks at vampire conferences, a meet-and-greet at the vampire senate in Louisiana. Some general day work (this is what vampires called the errands run on their behalf when they couldn't get out during peak day hours.) The total amount that would be due to me was breathtaking. It was a golden door to a new life, out of debt and into an apartment of my own.  
"Think it over," Ilaria said. "You'd be travelling as my companion and with members of the other Families. You'd have a full vampire and human security detail at all time. Top hotels, seeing more states in the US than most Americans even do in their lifetimes. It is an incredible chance, Maggie."

"Just three feeds?" I repeated. "Can I refuse if I want?"  
Ilaria winced. "It would be impolitic, but I am sure we could find a compromise."  
I took the piece of paper and the contract she'd also pulled out of the bag.  
"I'll read it over tonight and let you know tomorrow," I said.

That night I tossed and turned on the mattress on the floor. Seán had taken the bed. He'd bought it, he said, but in reality he simply needed it more … to sleep in with his new lover. However, I was too preoccupied to dwell on Seán; instead I read and re-read the contract. I looked at the list of duties and obligations. I read the contract again.

I signed it at 4.30 a.m. and texted Ilaria. At 5.12 in the morning, the doorbell rang and I opened it to find a small, wizened vampire at the door. Wordlessly, he took the contract and tipped his hat at me. I watched him walk through the sleeting rain to get to his car and drive away. Then I had breakfast and packed.


	3. Chapter 3

III

Pamela de Beaufort had been with her maker for a little more than a century but she'd never seen him quite like this before. If he were still human, she would assume he was suffering from burn-out. But he was vampire and Pamela wasn't certain whether vampires burnt out; in her experience, they just burnt up. She loved Eric Northman more than anything else, living or dead, that walked the earth, but part of their ability to stay within each other's orbit over the course of a hundred years was their conscious decision to get away from each other when their relationship stated to chafe. Thus, Eric had spent the late nineteen-thirties and most of the forties in Europe, while Pamela had wound bandages for the troops and knit for victory in the comfort of her Californian nest. Few knew how adept she once had been at turning a heel on a knitted sock … but Eric was stressing her so damn much, she felt like picking up her needles again, to knit herself into a meditative state. Or stab him with them. She was unsure which.

They'd sold their stakes in the artificial blood business when it became clear that Eric had no real long-term interest in being at the helm of an enormous company. He didn't need the money; he wasn't keen on the publicity; he loathed the hassle. For her part, Pam had found running Fangtasia just irritating enough to endure, but running a company hundreds of times bigger than her little Shreveport business made her skin crawl. All of the whiny humans and the greedy vampires. The meetings, the presentations, the palm-pressing, the politics, the _smiling_. Ugh.  
"I don't need the money," she'd said to Eric. "I don't know why I'm putting myself through this shit."

And he'd laughed, but ultimately agreed to pack it in with her. Pamela returned to Shreveport because the idiot she'd put in charge of Fangtasia had all but run it into the ground. Not that she was that attached to the shithole, she'd assured her maker, but she'd invested her precious time and good money into the place and she would not have her name associated with a bar that went bankrupt for sheer lack of business. Oh no. Pamela had plans to move into high-end events management and it would not look good on her resume if her first bar had nosedived into insolvency.

Eric had parted ways with her and left for Europe: he wanted to visit his estate in Sweden and was thinking of selling his vineyard in France. By the time he left, they'd both had their fill of each other and knew some time apart would do their relationship the power of good. Pamela had driven him to Dallas airport and waved him off, feeling a little bit sad and regretful. She expected to see him in a decade or so – he would come back when he'd had his fill of Swedish winters and Scandinavian blood.

Then one evening, thirteen months later, she let herself into Fangtasia before opening hours and found him behind the bar, drying glasses.  
"What are you doing here?" she'd cried.  
He looked at her as though she were mad.  
"Det är _min_ bar," he answered curtly. It was his bar, after all – why shouldn't he be there? Pamela followed him around, asking questions: had something happened in Sweden? Was he all right? Why had he returned so early?  
" _Varför inte?_ " he answered. Why not?  
Pamela sighed. He usually returned from Sweden with linguistic short-term memory loss: his English seemed to have fallen out of his ears.  
Pamela stared at him but he avoided her gaze, straightening bottles on the shelf and lining up the glasses. Eric Northman liked things neat.  
"I felt like it," he shrugged. He was unusually elliptical, even by Northman standards. Pam gave up.

Eric's return was not easy. Pamela had made changes to the bar that he didn't like. She had found and hired an interior designer who had overhauled a vampire bar in New York and she liked his style. The designer had made mood boards and 3D plans, which Pamela excitedly showed to Eric so he'd understand Rae's 'vision'.  
"It's a nod to 17th century French shabby chic," she said excitedly. "But with a Gothic twist."  
"Bullshit," he said. "I lived through the 17th century and it looked nothing like this. Not happening."  
"It is happening," Pam fumed. "The contracts have been signed. I run this bar now, Eric, so this _is_ happening."  
She expected it to erupt into one of their loud, blistering rows. Ginger, standing on the sidelines, looked from one to another in trepidation: she'd been witness to a lot of shouting matches and generally knew when to scuttle to safety in one of the back rooms.

But Eric just shrugged. "Ok. Whatever," he said.  
"Is he all right?" Ginger whispered as Eric walked off across the bar with his long, loping strides. "It dudn't seem like him to just give up."  
"Of course he's all right, you idiot," Pam snapped – more to reassure herself than Ginger. The barmaid shrugged.  
"If you say 'whatever', so help me: I'll drain you, Ginger!"  
Ginger just shrugged again.

It took her another six months to turn the bar around, but by the time October approached, Fangtasia's takings were up 40% on the previous year. Pamela was proud of herself – and justifiably so, she felt. She'd practically carried the entire turnaround on her shoulders: Eric drifted in and out of the place like a ghost. His only interest was in counting the takings, and even that interested him purely as a matter of habit. He liked to tally things up and set their books straight. Everything else that was connected to his position – the supplications, the enforcing of authority in his area, the liaising with the Louisiana queen or other sheriffs – was of so little interest to him, that it was chiefly left for Pam to do. She asked him when he intended to leave again, presuming his lack of interest was a signal that his stay in Shreveport was temporary. But he only shrugged and said he didn't know. She asked him why he didn't consider starting another company or moving to a new country, but he just _hmmm_ ed and turned his back. He was clearly not happy to be there but seemed reluctant to leave. He was like someone at the end of a gangplank: he would not jump until he was pushed.

Sick of it, she confronted him one night in his office. He was lying back in his chair, slumped down behind his desk, like a schoolboy in a lesson he particularly loathed.  
"Does _this_ – " Pamela waved her hand to encompass all of his long-legged lethargy – "have anything to do with that Stackhouse bitch? You're not still pining over her, are you? Get over her, already. She's married and has a bun in the oven."  
"It's not about her, Pam," he answered. "My time with Sookie was …"

Pamela waited.  
"...interesting. And I won't deny that hers was the best blood I've ever had and am ever likely to taste again, but – no, that's over."  
"Are you sure?" she demanded. "Because I can't take any more of your moping. I'll have her human killed if that makes you happy. Say the word and it will be done if it shakes you out of – "  
She waved an expressive hand again "– _this_."

Eric stood up. "Pamela," he said, "I've long since made my peace with Sookie Stackhouse. You were right: a relationship with – what did you call her? - 'an uneducated, unsophisticated Bon Temps waitress' had no future. Is that what you want to hear?"  
It was, actually. Eric rarely admitted she was right, but Pamela couldn't enjoy the victory.  
"So what _do_ you want?" she demanded.  
"I don't know," he said and his voice contained a note of strain that she'd never heard before. "I don't know, Pam. It's all so tiring. I'm just _tired_. I just can't bear the thoughts of decades more of _this_."  
Instinctively, she knew what _this_ was. Not the bar, not Fangtasia. _This_ was the effort of existing.

Pamela moved slowly to his desk, expecting him to wave her off in dismissal. Instead, he continued to stare at the tips of his shoes. She perched on the edge of the desk beside him and leaned her blond head against his.  
"What is it, my maker?" she asked softly. "What do you feel?"  
His answer chilled her through to her unbeating heart.  
"I feel nothing," he said finally. "Just nothing."  
He looked up at her and shrugged.


	4. Chapter 4

III

I told my parents and my employer that I was taking a six-month sabbatical. I felt energized by the prospect and bargained with the Empress, through Ilaria, to receive an advance on my payment, which I deposited in my account to cover my share of the mortgage and any costs arising during the sale of our house. Ah, yes. Our house. I rang Seán and told him I was going to America to work with vampires. I might as well have told him that I was going to Mars to work with unicorns.  
"America?" he said incredulously. "As in, the United States of?"  
"Yes," I said with a touch of pride. No more moping around for me. Gone were the days when I salted my cornflakes with tears and was a stranger to personal hygiene. I was back on track: I had a wonderful job opportunity working with the vampiric Empress of the European and North African Territories.

Seán tried to repeat that as well, but he stumbled over the word 'vampiric'. In fairness, though, I wasn't entirely sure it existed. I made a mental note to Google it.  
"You can't work with vampires," he hissed. "Everyone knows what they're like. You'll end up dead or – what do they call it? Drained!"  
"What do you care, anyway?" I asked. Really – what did he care? He was too busy shagging little Miss Perfect Arse in her one-bedroom quayside apartment. Feck him.  
He made some more protesting noises but I cut him short. I told him what arrangements I had made and said that, in the unlikely event of our over-priced house selling in a sluggish market, I would be contactable via any of our many social media networks.

I felt fantastic: empowered and positive. And then I started Vampire Bootcamp at their headquarters in Dublin and felt like I was ten years old again.

That's not what they called it, of course, but I nonetheless had to attend a two-week 'familiarization course' with the other members of the Five Families so we could be fed the official line on the European Vampires' campaign. It was held in the Vampire Council's in Dublin, on the other side of the city from my overpriced house. I'd been in the building so many times, with my parents and grandparents, and had never quite shaken the feeling that the place was a bit magic. On the outside, it looked like one of Dublin's many Georgian buildings, but on the inside it had been extended on all levels and out the back of its extensive garden to accommodate all the vampires' business, like a rabbit warren of light-tight rooms. I was the only one of the Five Families members who could go home in the evening: the others had come in from mainland Europe and had been put up in the guest accommodation within the Council building. I had to be at my desk (well, the conference table) at 9 a.m. every morning and in the information folder we were given on arrival, there was a code of conduct with a dress code: smart slacks or knee-length skirts. Blouses, t-shirts, jackets in colors 'appropriate for a business setting'. So, yeah – essentially I was back at school in a uniform.

I met Pietro and Hans-Peter again, both of whom I had last seen at the old Emperor's commemoration. They were both in my Uncle James' age-group: Pietro was small and thin, with delicate pianist-fingers, while Hans-Peter looked like the Bavarian forester that he was. He had a large, round tummy and wore a thick, woollen Loden jacket in the traditional southern German style. He confessed to me that he no longer liked doing any official Five Families business, especially the sort that involved travelling to multiple big cities on a far continent. I loved to speak to him, he had a gentle German accent that rose and fell. Oh, and he called vampires 'wampires'. I was _entranced_.  
"Since many years now I work in the woods, in the nature," he said earnestly. "Zis wampire business is not for me."  
"Then why did they ask you?" I wondered.  
"I am the only one left," he said sadly. "My shildren are at the university or in the work. My son is a carrier, like me, but he hates the wampires. When the Empress called me, she remembered me that my family owe the wampires for their help far back in the 1960s, back when I was just a boy. But it is no matter, it is my duty to pay back this favour."

And he looked a little sad. I don't blame him. The Empress – her name was Moya Kennedy back before she was voted the supreme ruler of vampire life across Europe and the north of Africa – was a very sweet and charming lady with a will of iron and a long memory. I was absolutely certain that she had a long mental list of everyone who owed her and the Vampire Council of Europe a favour or a tribute.

I liked to sit beside Sonja Helsaig, who was in her mid-thirties and just a few years older than me. She was a lawyer in Amsterdam and had been working in vampire affairs for years. We were both quite in awe of the fifth member of our little group, Count Tomas Ardelean, who was in his late eighties. He'd lived through a period behind the Iron Curtain when one of his tasks was actually to stake vampires for the Soviet Vampire Council. He walked with a cane and usually sat with it between his legs, so he could cross his hands over its ornate knob and rest his forehead out of sight behind them.

I quickly understood why I had been invited along. Pietro was cranky and temperamental. Hans-Peter got flustered when he had to speak to a group of more than three people. Sonja was brisk and to the point, but her voice was nasal and she was not a natural orator. Tomas Ardelean simply said nothing. I, on the other hand, was happy to speak to anyone so it seemed to be an accepted fact that I would be the group's public speaker. I was drilled in a selection of speeches that I co-wrote with the Empress' advisors and was made to practice them while the others were trained in the art of persuasion, one on one. Sonja called it, 'How to Make Friends and Influence Vampires.'

We had lectures about vampire history, lectures about the current state of affairs in the United States, Central and Southern America, and Asia. We were shown photos and given biographies of all the leading vampires would meet on our tour of the US. The itinerary was revealed; we were each given certain tasks that we would have to take on in the three weeks between the end of the tour at the beginning of December and the start of the Congress on the 20th of that month. I was to coordinate the arrival of the British, Irish, Icelandic and Scandinavian delegates, which pleased me greatly. I knew many of them by name or sight already.

We were also assigned vampire companions. At least, the Empress called them companions but we all knew they were minders. Ilaria was mine – no surprises there – and with her came her secretary, Stephen. I liked him on sight. He was German, like Hans-Peter, and made an effort to put the older man at ease. Stephen came from the north of Germany, from the city of Hamburg, and he confessed to me in private that he found Hans-Peter's dialect almost incomprehensible at times. But he took time to speak to him and distract him from the reams of information we were being forced to process and remember. Stephen was kind that way.

He was generally a nice guy, though. The kind of man you'd probably see behind the desk at your local bank or insurance office. He had been in his early forties when he was turned, he had short brown hair and kind grey eyes. He was attractive in the kind of way that surprised you – you know, when you've known someone for some time and you suddenly realize that they're actually not bad. As in: quite comely. That's it: Stephen was a comely vampire. When he met me, he appraised me from head to toe, leaning in a millimeter or two to get my smell. I didn't hold it against him: vampires find us carriers a curiosity and, like men who don't realize they're staring at your chest, they tend to move closer than they intend to when we're first introduced. But Stephen checked himself and looked embarrassed, quickly drawing back with a quiet apology.

He was a perfect foil for Ilaria: where she was quick and tended towards snap decisions, he was thoughtful and deliberate. Although, officially, he was her secretary, it quickly became clear that he was more than that. He could have taken over her role in an instant and probably would've been better informed that Ilaria ever was. However, she was magnetic and charming, while he always seemed a little humourless and stiff. He seemed to struggle slightly with the newest technology, gingerly prodding his mobile, while Ilaria carried a smartphone like a weapon. Anything unfamiliar to her in this new life was promptly Googled. She also had an extensive Pinterest account and an array of artsy photos on Instagram that were filtered to the point of unreality. Ilaria's official role was one of the Empress' two personal assistants and, in turn, Stephen was hers, but he was senior to the other assistant's assistant by virtue of his vampire age. I found it still very confusing but the vampires seemed to have an innate concept of hierarchy that allowed them to instantly gauge where they stood in the pecking order.

We completed the bootcamp – sorry, familiarization course – and I was disappointed to learn that we would not be getting a certificate. When I suggested it, tongue in cheek, it was met with po-faced perturbation by all of the vampires present, except Stephen, that is. He grinned at me silently and gave me a quick wink, my co-conspirator. We were given our plane tickets and told when to assemble at Dublin airport. I shook hands with the other Fives and was about to say goodbye to Stephen and Ilaria, when she took me by the elbow and steered me out of the room. I was called in to have a private audience with the Empress.  
"Behave yourself now," Ilaria whispered. "Stop demanding certificates and grades."  
Ilaria does not appreciate my sense of humor. She pushed the door open and me inside with a gentle hand on my back.

Moya stood up when I came in. She was quite tall and her hair had started to grey before she was turned, just a few wisps at her ears and temples. It made her age hard to estimate: she had probably been old by her era's standards, maybe in her late thirties, but she didn't look young by ours, either. She had a face that could've been a decade older or younger, which had probably contributed greatly to her survival over the centuries. She hugged me close but held her head stiffly away, trying not to smell me. She was very respectful that way; I liked her for it. In fact, I liked her generally: many of the vampires griped that she was too authoritarian, an iron fist in a velvet glove, but I knew that she was motivated by a desire to achieve the greater good for her fellow vamps and was in the unenviable position of following a leader who had ruled successfully for a couple of centuries.

The Empress indicated that I should sit and I did. She explained that I would be offered for sure to the king of the Dakotas and probably the High Councilor of New York. She was undecided about the third feed. While she was telling me this, there was a low rap on the door and Ilaria walked in with a small tray of medical equipment and – of all things – a jar of honey.  
"We've discussed this at length," the Empress said. "We discussed the merits of chocolate and wine and fruit, but we decided upon honey. It's sweet, the taste carries well and it will be known to many of the older vampires who were turned before sugar was brought back from the New World. So if you could eat some of this, Ilaria will take your blood when you're done."

Now, I've always enjoyed a bit of honey – on a piece of toast. Drizzled across a cake. But eating it with a spoon out of a jar, Winnie-the-Pooh-style, is another matter. I made my way halfway through before I put my spoon down.  
"I think I'll be sick if I have to eat any more," I said. Ilaria swabbed my arm and told me to lie back. She tapped my arm, found a vein and started extracting my blood. The Empress' face grew a little pink, and she excused herself, leaving the room. I knew why: the smell of the bleeding carrier on the couch was probably too much to bear. I imagined she was off in the pantry, scoffing a True Blood or tucking into a bag of blood that they got for her from the local blood donor group.

I watched my blood flow into the plastic bag. Ilaria patted my arm. She seemed entirely unmoved by my super-sweet blood - she'd probably just eaten before she came in – I lay back in the chair and looked at the ornate plaster on the ceiling.  
"Is this it?" I asked. "Is this the last thing we have to do before we leave for the States?"  
"Yes," Ilaria said. "Are you looking forward to it, your debut as one of the Five Families, seeing vampire history in the making?"  
I felt a bit woozy, so I closed my eyes.  
"Yes," I said. "I can't wait. It's going to be exciting."  
"It will be," Ilaria agreed.  
Little did we know.


	5. Chapter 5

V

When he was a boy, Eric Northman's father had insisted that he learn the value of hard work. His little princeling was not too good to get his hands dirty and so the boy was sent to gut fish or clean out the stables under the supervision of Ranulf, his father's servant. Eric perfected the art of dragging his heels, dawdling and messing about till Ranulf – uncowed by his charge's birthright or status – finally lost his patience and gave him a clip on the ear. He told Eric to look sharp or there'd be more where that came from. Eric went about his chores with a hot ball of resentment in his chest, using as little energy as possible to complete his tasks so he could expend the rest on feeling hard-done-by.

A thousand years later and Eric was still doing the same. For a number of months now, this same feeling of reluctance and resentment had come over him every time he pushed the heavy door of Fangtasia open. His steps slowed and he ignored the regulars who greeted him as he crossed the bar-room floor. Of course, there was no Ranulf to slap him across the back of the head, but he could see in Pam's eyes that she would gladly do it, were she given the chance.  
"You're late," she hissed as he passed the bar.  
"I had business to attend to," he lied. He had discovered the joys of Netflix: crawled out of his coffin and sprawled across his couch, watching drama series about humans solving crimes with forensics. It was very interesting. There was a lot of blood. Probably the vampire equivalent of a cookery show, he thought.

"You promised you would be here at ten pm sharp, Thursday through Saturday," she said. "It's not much to ask from the damn owner of the bar."  
He waved his fingers at her in dismissal and made his way through the crowd. They parted to let him through: he was a head and shoulders above most of the men in the bar and many of the punters had come to see him anyway. He continued to make eye contact with no one, ascending the throne with sullen ill-grace. Once on the stage, he slumped down, resting his chin on his hand. The crowd gathered around the base of the stage, women and men dancing provocatively, staring at him and hoping to catch his eye. He ignored them and examined his fingernails instead. Nothing drove the punters as wild as being ignored.

The place was full, which was heartening. For a while, their receipts had been dropping, so Pam had hired a 'consultant' to help her turn the business around. The consultant was human, a gay human of the flamboyant variety that had arrived with a small entourage and toured the bar exclaiming and gushing about its "authenticity" … before systematically trying to destroy it all.  
"It's fabulous," he had said. What was his name? Ray? Roy? No, Ray, but he'd spelled it _Raë_. "It's fabulous," Raë kept saying, "but it needs to be - _revamped_!"  
And he'd said it in such a way that it seemed like he was expecting applause for the pun. Instead, it was met with Eric and Pam's stony-faced silence. He'd spoken to them for two hours about the need for increased attractions, a better ("less threatening") ambience, some special offers and more active social media marketing.  
"Don't you have a Twitter account?" Raë had asked, fake-shocked.  
Eric looked at him blankly but Pam, at least, knew what it was. "Do I look like the kind of girl who wants to restrict herself to 140 characters?" she'd sneered.  
Raë threw up his hands in a gesture of defense. "Then you guys need to find someone who can handle all of that kind of thing for you. Don't you have anyone _young_ – more tech-savvy than you two?"  
Pam rolled her eyes and said she'd find someone. And while she was instructing one of the baby vamps from their clientele in how to tend Fangtasia's social media needs, Raë and his team repainted the bar, threw out some of the older and grottier furniture, replacing it with heavy pseudo-antique side tables and chairs. They suspended three cages from the ceiling, like ornate bird cages, but big enough for a human … or a vampire.

Eric and Pam had stood to one side, watching them being cranked up off the floor.  
"And who is supposed to go in there?" Pam said, crossing her arms.  
"I'm thinking a couple of your more attractive Vampire patrons," Raë said. "Young, sexy – a bit of leather, a bit of lace, nice fangs…"  
"Won't work," Eric said shortly. "The Vampire League will be on our asses in an instant. Vampires in cages, snarling at humans? We're supposed to be helping to improve the reputation of vampires everywhere." He said the last bit in a sing-song voice. The Vampire League was on a major public relations drive: they wanted vampires to be seen as the friendly fanged neighbors everyone wished they had.  
"Well, why don't you put some humans in there?" Raë countered. "You know, it's a very ironic post-Vampiric statement, I think."  
"A very stupid statement, I think," Pam echoed in Swedish. Raë didn't understand the words but he got the venom.  
"We can take them down," he said. "No biggie. Whatever."  
"Leave them," Eric said wearily. He just wanted the whole lot of them out of his bar and back to New Orleans as fast as possible. He paid the exorbitant bill for their services and told Pam that he wasn't spending any more money on that bullshit. He thought they'd been conned by a clever human selling them the interior decorator's equivalent of the emperor's new clothes. But at that point it was too late to stop: the bar had been closed for a week and every social media outlet that Raë could think of was advertising their re-launch. Sorry: their _re-vamping_.

It turned out that Raë's re-vamping had borne fruit and his ironic post-Vampiric statement proved hugely popular with the vampires and humans alike. The cages were never empty: the more extroverted, the more drunk or the more high in the bar competed to be allowed to writhe and wriggle behind bars till Pam decided that enough was enough and dragged them out by the ear.

Some of Raë's other ideas had also worked: the Facebook and Twitter feeds seemed to be bringing in extra customers, their 'Ladies Go Free' night on Thursday was attracting a lot of local interest - and interest from Pam, who manned the door on these evenings and looked each freebie up and down. In fact, Eric was beginning to feel that Pam was becoming a bit of a Raë Disciple: she was talking about getting Raë to re-vamp her apartment. Eric had caught them discussing velvet curtains and chalk paint. He was not amused.

Raë was the one who insisted that Eric and Pam were the bar's main attractions, not the collar-wearing humans and baby vamps prowling for a free feed. Other local vampires balked at the idea of being put on show and, to be frank, most of them were not really show-worthy: not in the way that Fangtasia's punters expected. The Shreveport vampires were, for the most part, a very dull and unspectacular bunch and Eric was sure that having vampires like Louis Davis – the tractor-driving night-farming vampire from Shawroot - sitting at the Fangtasia bar in his battered jeans wouldn't do much for sales figures.

This was the reason why Pam was insisting Eric come in for two hours each evening to be stared at, gawked at, pointed at, drooled over and photographed.  
"It's undignified," Eric had protested. "And very, very boring."  
"Suck it up," Pam snapped. "And get on stage."  
So he sat in his chair, his long legs extended outwards, sometimes summoning a pretty girl to come onstage and amuse him. Or go offstage and do more. Then he would weave his way through the bar, fingers linked with some woman's, through the envious crowd, avoiding Pam's gimlet stare and knowing that she was going to give him hell when he later re-emerged, sated and marginally less bored.

Eric looked at his watch: 10:46. Good God - he was stuck here till midnight. If he was unlucky, he'd have to listen to a couple of whiny supplicants: vampire citizens in his sheriffdom that were looking for some kind of favor or arbitration in a dispute. He shifted in the large wooden chair and looked around. Pam, motionless behind the bar, was staring at him. When he met her eye, she raised a finger, "Fuck, no!" she mouthed slowly, shaking her head.  
He sank back in his seat, folded his arms and sulked.


	6. Chapter 6

VI

So our presentation for the Dallas vampires had turned out to be a disaster. The night after the presentation, we were summoned to the Empress' room upon waking. Of course, the humans had already been up for hours. Sonja and I had been discussing the previous night by writing notes: we had been told the rooms were all probably bugged so we sat side by side and scribbled our conversation on the pages of one of my notebooks. Sonja felt as I did: the chances of the Charter being passed were fading. The American vampires' belief that this was an attempt to impose restrictions on their freedom of government had gathered momentum and was culminating at our last stops in Dallas and, we feared, New Orleans.

We burned the pages in the bathroom sink with a lighter and headed into the Empress' suite. She raised her fingers to her lips as three of her vamps systematically searched the place for bugs. As we watched, one of them found something on the ornate tip of a curtain pole. They searched the others and found more. They were removed and the assembled company started to speak in low, urgent whispers. Some of the vampires in the audience had been spotted at previous presentations – troublemakers, shitstirrers. Who had started the _'Cui bono?'_ shouting? Could we have another private audience with the Dallas king?  
"I've spoken to him already," the Empress said. She looked weary and drab. "He just shrugs and says there's nothing he can do if that's how his vampires feel. I wouldn't be surprised if that little bastard put them up to it, though."  
There was a buzz of discussion – someone said they'd recognized some of the vampires, from the talks in San Diego or Seattle. Someone else thought they'd planted them in the audience as rabble-rousers.  
"So what do we do now?" Stephen's cool voice cut through the noise and the others fell silent. "Should we not rethink who our key players are? If the monarchs are hiding behind their subjects, maybe we need to find the vampires who influence policy and talk to them."  
There were murmurs of agreement.  
"We cannot bypass the rulers of their states," the Empress said firmly. "This is an official proposal, put forward by the Office of the Empress of Europe. I will not negotiate with individual vampires to try to placate them into agreeing. The American authorities, such as they are, have an obligation to get their population to toe the line."  
She stood up to her full height, impressive in her four-inch-heels.  
"We drive to New Orleans tonight," she said, "As scheduled. The Queen is expecting us. It is an eight-hour drive so we must leave on time to get there before sunrise. We shall proceed as planned."  
She left the room, her head held high, followed by her two ladies-in-waiting. I saw Ilaria and Stephen exchange glances. They did not look pleased.

I always travelled with Stephen and Ilaria. Most of the entourage travelled in a large air-conditioned coach, but the three of us had a car that Stephen had managed to buy when he arrived in the States. We'd driven across most of the Continent in it, squabbling about the music choice, talking about the night's events or simply sitting in companionable silence, watching the country pass us in darkness.

"We are going to take a short stop," Ilaria announced after an hour or so in the car.  
"I thought we were supposed to drive straight to New Orleans?" I said.  
Ilaria and Stephen looked at each other. Stephen was driving and I knew he could have – and would have – easily managed the long journey from Dallas to New Orleans, driving along the dark roads in his steady, unerring manner. I was half-sitting, half-lying across the back seat, Ilaria was in the passenger seat and I knew by the light of her phone that she was probably looking at interior decoration ideas on Pinterest.  
"We have decided to stop in Shreveport," Ilaria said. "There's someone there that we want to visit."  
"That _you_ want to visit," Stephen corrected, glancing sideways at her.  
"That it would be prudent to visit," Ilaria countered.  
Stephen _harrumph_ ed and put his foot on the gas so the car rocked a little in protest.  
"Where's Shreveport? Who lives there?" I asked.  
"Shreveport is in northern Louisiana," Ilaria said. "The sheriff in this area is someone we would very much like to have on our side. He has many connections to Dallas – his maker was king there for many years. And he's very well-respected among all of the vampires in Louisiana as well – he used to run the NewBlood company. Having him on our side would go a long way to swaying the vote."  
"So we're going to turn up at his door and talk him into supporting our righteous cause?" I asked. "Contrary to the Empress' very clear decree?"  
Stephen grinned at me in the rearview mirror. I was always surprised that he, the seemingly most humourless of vampires, understood my sarcasm better than most.

Ilaria, on the other hand, did not.  
"He should know that our cause is righteous. He might need a little persuasion, though. Perhaps … a gift."  
She ducked her head so I would not meet her eye, but it was ok: I knew what the subtext was.  
"So I'm to be his little midnight snack, then, am I?"  
No one said anything.  
"Does the Empress know?" I asked. "Surely she might notice if we don't turn up at dawn. She might figure we took a little detour."  
"I've told her that we'll stop to visit a friend of mine and go to ground there tomorrow. It's the truth. The sheriff's progeny is one of my dearest friends, we shared a nest together. I would've made every effort to visit her anyway."

"And does the Empress know that you would like the third feed to go to your backwoods sheriff?" I asked, amused. "First the High Councillor of New York, then King of the Dakotas and now the Sheriff of Randomville in northern Louisiana. The honors you doth bestow upon me!"  
More silence. Stephen turned his head from the road to look at Ilaria. She sighed theatrically and wriggled around in her seat.  
"Maggie, love, I was wondering if you would be prepared to – "  
"No!" I said, laughing. "Nice try but no."  
"I haven't even told you – "  
" _No_ ," I repeated. "I'm not a snack wagon, a dessert trolley. You can't just roll me out when it pleases you. You guys have got ten vials of my blood to use as you please, that's it. I'm not going to throw you in a freebie for kicks and laughs."  
"Magdalena," Stephen said, "this is not going as well as we had expected. We already know that Dallas was a disaster and even though Louisiana likes to think of itself as the premier vampire state, it looks to Dallas for its lead. Northman has enough influence to talk sense into a lot of people. We would be foolish not to use whatever means necessary to bring him over to our side."  
"Maybe he's already on our side," I argued. "He might be enlightened enough to understand the necessity of the Charter."  
"Mr Northman has pursued a policy of Grand Isolation for centuries," Stephen said. "He's over a thousand years old; he could've stood for office in almost any state, but he has chosen to serve his own interests instead. I would imagine that he would be more in favour of a political system that does not interfere in whatever shenanigans he gets involved in."  
"Maggie," Ilaria implored, "the Empress in her wisdom would rather save you up for the Queen of Louisiana or maybe even the King of the Islands in order to get the support of the Caribbean vampires. Something that would make a big, showy bang. But we don't need the fireworks, we need one little spark that will spread like wildfire through the vampire ranks. We think Mr Northman would be a far wiser investment for our cause, but she will not hear of it. I know you've been contracted for three feeds, but Stephen and I are prepared to pay you whatever the Empress has offered you. Double, in fact, if necessary."  
"It's not about the money," I said, a touch offended. "Money won't make me _want_ to do it. It's not a pleasant experience, you know, and I think three close encounters with vampire fangs are really more than enough. I can't imagine why some humans would do it voluntarily."  
"It's great with sex," Ilaria muttered.  
"Mother of God in heaven!" I cried, "I'm not going to shag him to make it more tolerable, but thank you for the suggestion!"

"Stop the car, Stephen," Ilaria said. He pulled over to the side of the road and she squirmed around in her seat to look at me.  
"Magdalena," she said, "I am begging you – I am _imploring_ you – to do this for me. For us. As your godmother, I am asking you for this one, special favour. For me."  
I sighed.  
"It just feels kind of creepy," I said.  
"I know," she answered, taking my hand. "But but Stephen and I will be in the room with you, we'll make sure nothing happens."  
That kind of icked me out as well. They'd never seen anyone feed on me, it had happened in the presence of the feeder and under the cool, watchful eye of the Empress. Having Stephen and Ilaria look at me sympathetically – hungrily? – while some strange vampire was chomping away on my wrist just made a weird situation potentially weirder.  
" _Please_ ," she begged.  
Ilaria was not the type to beg. She was not the kind to ask a favour. Anything she wanted, she paid for in kind. My being with the Empress' entourage was not a good turn: I was being paid to do the job they wanted. The fact that it had been an act of kindness was, for someone like Ilaria, a convenient side note. To play her 'I'm-your-godmother' chip without offering anything in return meant that what she needed was important to her.

I conceded. "Very well."  
Stephen and Ilaria beamed.  
"So how will it go down?" I said. "We arrive, you tell him what you want and I stick out my arm?"  
"Not quite," Ilaria said. "His progeny is an old and dear friend of mine. I'll ask her to approach him and see if he and I could talk. I'll explain our position and, as a gesture of goodwill, I will offer you as a tribute."  
A tribute. I know that's how I was referred to behind my back and in languages I didn't understand: _We will offer her as tribute to the King of the Dakotas. She will be a fine tribute for the King of the Islands._ I knew vampires, I knew their lexicon. However it was simply indelicate, in this day and age when humans and vampires were all chummy and egalitarian, to refer to one's human companion as a 'tribute' _to their face_ , as thought he or she were a chest of gold or a particularly handsome cow.

"That all sounds very formal," I said. "Very … proper."  
"He's old," Ilaria said. "The old ones like the old ways."  
"And how should I behave as a tribute?" I asked. "Shy and effacing? Meek and downcast? Coy and come-hither?"  
I lowered my eyes and looked up at Ilaria through flickering eyelashes, showing her how coyly come-hither I could be. Sadly, Ilaria was not good at subtlety, either. She regarded me seriously.  
"You can be a little bit cheeky –" she said.  
"Brazen," Stephen muttered.  
"So maybe just be quiet and say nothing. Look at the floor. Don't make eye-contact. Be very … submissive."  
Stephen and I snorted in chorus.  
"Men like that," Ilaria said earnestly. "Or, at least, they did in the past. You won't be feeding Eric Northman, my love, you'll be feeding Eric Northman's ego."  
"Basically," Stephen cut in, "Keep your gob shut, Maggie. No vampire likes a yappy dinner."  
"Fine," I said. "Let's do it. I'll be a submissive bag of blood, Ilaria will rev up into full diplomatic gear and Stephen will…"  
"Stephen will make sure you two don't fuck it up," he said, starting the car.  
"I am delighted," Ilaria said, clapping her hands. "I know you're going to love Pamela and she's going to adore you. I can't wait for you two to meet."

I'd met a lot of Ilaria's former nest-mates over the years and without exception, they had all been extraordinarily interesting but completely bonkers. I couldn't imagine one of her closest friends running a vampire bar in the middle of nowhere: she had to be a nutcase as well.  
"What's he like, this Northman?" I asked.  
"Very handsome," replied Ilaria. That didn't reassure me. We'd watched a lot of telly in hotel rooms these past few weeks and one thing had been quickly established: our taste in men was very different. "He's tall, blond, commanding – "  
"Arrogant. Humourless. Commandeering," Stephen added. "Look him up in your database."  
He glanced up at the road sign illuminated by the car's headlights and got in lane for the appropriate exit.  
"Have you met him too, Stephen?" I asked.  
"Once," was the curt answer. I took it that Stephen had not been impressed.

"What's his name again?" I asked. I waited till my tablet had picked up a signal, then logged on to _The Book of the Undead_. It was an online database that had originally started out hundreds of years ago as half a dozen leather-bound books. It was the result of meticulous note-taking by all of the Five Families, swapped and shared over centuries and at times when information exchange was dodgy at best. The Five Families had noted down everything they knew about every vampire they encountered and these volumes formed a huge database of vampires in Europe, from Europe or those travelling through Europe. At some point it had been transferred to digital form and it was available to a select few as a reference. Many of the vamps I was meeting in the US had an entry in the book and, as I met them, I was mentally taking notes which were later sent by email to my Uncle James in Ireland, the current archivist for the Five Families.  
"Northman, Eric," Ilaria said.  
"There's no _Northman_ , maybe a _Norman_? Also goes by _Normanne, John_ or _Norman, Eri_ c. Or _Magnusson, Erik_. Scandinavian, thought to be … " I searched for the English word as this entry was written in Irish Gaelic, " _Lochlannach_. Scandinavian?"  
"Viking," Ilaria confirmed. "What do you call him? Loch- "  
" _Lochlannach_ ," I repeated. "'Man from the land of the lakes'."  
"That sounds about right. He is – or he was - Viking. This won't surprise you when you see him."

I continued to read the entry. "It says here that he got into trouble for … it's not completely clear, but could it be something like embezzlement? It seems that there was a problem with loyalty and money and … well, he blotted his copybook in some way back in the 1500s and that made him a target for the Five Families. And … oh my God, it goes on for two pages. He's got quite a rap sheet, this one. Obviously, he must have managed to do some serious damage control if wasn't given the true death."  
"That sounds like Eric," Stephen said. "He's always been a bit of a wild card. I'm sure there are plenty more blots in his copybook that aren't included in your little database."  
"Well, I for one can't wait to meet this copybook-blotting maverick," I said in an earnest tone. "He sounds like a trustworthy and reliable ally. I shall seriously consider giving him my blood for free, in order to get him on our side and working to pass our amazing charter into law."  
Stephen grinned again, but Ilaria nodded her head vigorously. "I'm glad you understand," she said. "I think this will be strategically very important …"

Damn, we really needed to work on her concept of sarcasm.

Stephen pulled into a parking lot outside a low building. The whole area looked like an industrial estate, with boarded up windows and nondescript buildings. The car park, though full, was pot-holed and shabby.  
"Does he live here?" I asked, puzzled.  
"No, no," Ilaria said. "He runs that bar over there, Fangtasia."  
I felt a big smile split my face. Could there be a cornier name for a vampire bar? I was beginning to like this Northman chap already.  
"You'll have to – " Ilaria waved her fingers and wrinkled her little nose "- freshen up."  
I sighed. I was sweaty and sticky and offensive to the olfactory centres of any vampires in my presence. Ilaria hopped out, rooted around in the trunk of the car, then opened the back door and slid in beside me. She handed me my overnight bag.  
"Off, off," she commanded and I pulled my t-shirt over my head. Stephen, ever a gentleman, got out of the car and stood in the car park, pretending to breathe in the night air. Ilaria picked up my bottle of mineral water and splashed some on the t-shirt, soaking it wet.  
"Now do your best," she said, handing it to me. Obediently I swiped myself, while she watched the process with a look of ill-disguised disgust on her face.  
"Humans," she said. "So smelly. It's one aspect of my human life that I have never missed."  
She handed me an unscented roll-on deodorant and squirted me with a little citrus oil. I knew vampires didn't like chemicals on human skin – no perfumes or other strong scents – but many of them liked their humans marinated in natural oils, like lemon or lavender. Ilaria pulled my chin towards her and did my make up briskly. When I whimpered at her rough treatment, she tapped my nose with the make-up brush and told me to shut up. Finally, she handed me a black top, which I recognized as one of her own.

"That won't fit," I said, handing it back to her. Ilaria's slender frame was enhanced by push-up bras, whereas my underwear was more of the push-down variety. While she could wrap herself in a tablecloth and make it look flowing and elegant, I had to put a lot of effort into making normal clothes not make me look like a hooker. Ilaria's v-neck top looked low-key and elegant on her, but my bosoms would push it to the limits of its respectability.  
"No, it's good," she said and shoved it back at me. "You don't want to stand out in here."  
"What kind of place is this?" I asked.  
"You'll see," she said.  
"Have you been here before?"  
She gave a _you-must-be-joking_ laugh. "I looked up their website," she said. "It's like a vampire theme-park."  
I pulled her top over my head and greeted my breasts as they tried to escape through the neck hole.  
Ilaria tilted her head, reviewing me, then grabbed the lace of my underwire bra and yanked my boobs up.  
"Hey!" I yelped. She ignored me and tugged the top down.  
" _Ilaria_!" I hissed, scandalized. She leaned over and pulled my hair out of its ponytail and mussed it up around my head. By this point, I'd had enough and swatted her away.  
"Leave me alone, you beast!" I cried.  
"Stephen?" she called. He poked his head in the window. "What do you think?"  
"She looks like a proper little trollop," he said. I think he was joking. With vampires, it can sometimes be hard to tell.  
"Perfect!" said Ilaria and pulled me out of the car so she could inspect me from head to foot. She sighed over my sensible footwear and rooted about in the trunk of the car till she found a pair of black shoes with an impressive heel. I slipped them on. She was half a shoe size smaller than me, but with some toe-scrunching, they fit.

I hobbled across the car park between Stephen and Ilaria, trying to learn to balance in my borrowed shoes. Ilaria pushed the padded door open and let us all in.

I liked Pamela on sight. She was very tall and thin had that brittle, shiny look of a woman who took shit from no one. She was wearing a long clinging pencil skirt, topped off with a leather corset over a scarlet silk blouse. She looked extraordinary. Her hair was scraped back into a high ponytail and fell poker-straight down her back. She stood at the entrance to the bar like the gatekeeper to Hades, full of fury and scorn. She'd been giving some under-aged human a tongue-lashing when we arrived, but she shoved the poor guy aside when she spotted Ilaria coming in the door. The two women hugged, air-kissed and admired each other's outfits, and quickly asked about vampires they both knew. Even Stephen got an air-kiss, but he just looked awkward and moved behind me as though Pamela scared him. And I could believe she might: she looked like an imperious Vampire Barbie.

"How did you end up _here_?" Ilaria hissed as a couple of Goth-clad patrons nodded at Pamela and pushed past us to the bar.  
"Long story," Pamela said, rolling her eyes. "Long. Fucking. Story. But anyway – " she brightened up, looking me up and down. "Who's your human?"  
"She's not my human, Pammie. This is my godchild, Magdalena."  
Pamela's eyes widened.  
"Nice to meet you," I said. She was looking at me appreciatively, the way you might look at a nicely decorated cake or a well-done steak.  
"You've done well with the mainstreaming," she said admiringly to Ilaria. "They even give you godchildren now, how nice."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Stephen nudged me and I stayed quiet. They'd lectured me on the short walk to the entrance about the necessity of being quiet. Staying still. Keeping my damn piehole shut. I was nothing if not cooperative so, like someone in a hostage situation, I was silent and obedient, allowing Stephen to propel me through Pamela's crazy bar and practising my best submissive face. It was hilarious: Goth seemed to be the style _du jour_ – in fact, it looked like a meeting of The Cure fan-club, circa 1985, had descended upon the little bar to writhe and jiggle to the thumping music. The joint was decked out like a nightmare version of Versailles: blacks, reds, deep pinks. More black. Ornate curlicues juxtaposed with studs and leather. Stephen looked at me wordlessly, his mouth twisting in an attempt not to laugh. The place was _fantastic_.

Ilaria and Pamela slipped off through a door that probably led to some back office, so Stephen and I sat up at the bar and discussed what we would have to drink. I knew a few vampires had already caught my scent: to them, I would've smelled of apples, which is what I'd been eating in the car. A couple hovered nearby, nudging each other, but reluctant to approach us because it seemed mostly likely that I was Stephen's human. He, in the meantime, ignored them and treated himself to a bottle of AB blood substitute. This was quite wild in Stephen's books: he was generally abstemious in all respects and would've normally taken a cheaper and more sensible O Positive. But tonight, sitting on a bar stool in his ironed grey slacks and crisp white shirt, he looked like a bank clerk on a mission to get drunk with his daring bottle of expensive AB in his left hand. I decided to follow his devil-may-care lead and indulge in an alcoholic drink myself.

I contemplated the shelf of bottles behind the barman and thought about what I'd have. I wasn't a big drinker anyway and under normal circumstances the last thing I would have had was alcohol in a situation where I needed my wits about me, but I was suddenly overcome by a yearning for some Dutch courage.  
"What did Vikings drink back in their heyday?" I asked Stephen.  
As always, Stephen understood me immediately: if I smelled like something this Northman found desirable, I would be even harder to resist.  
"Mead, probably," he said.  
Oh, God. More honey.  
"Bleurgh," I said. "Fuck it, I'll have a beer. I've yet to meet a Scandinavian who doesn't like beer."  
Suddenly the barman sat a tequila sunrise on the bar in front of me. "They're on the house," he said, indicating Stephen's bottle.  
Surprised, we looked around, expecting to see Pamela. Instead, we realized we were being observed from a little stage. Mr Northman – for I presume it was he, I couldn't see much more than the top of his blond head in the shadows - was sitting on a kind of wooden throne, flanked on either side by smaller and less ornate chairs. I ducked my head and smirked. _What an egomaniac_ , I thought. _On a throne!_  
We nodded our thanks. He barely moved his head in acknowledgement.  
"Turn around," Stephen said. I whizzed around on my bar stool and sipped my drink. Oh, man. It was exactly what I wanted. How did he know?  
"If we make eye contact with him, he'll summon us," Stephen said. "Don't turn around and don't look at him."  
"What if he sends one of his minions to come and get us?"  
"We'll cross that bridge when the minion comes over it," Stephen replied.

Fortunately, Pamela and Ilaria came over the bridge first. Ilaria told us to finish our drinks and look sharp, while Pamela went up on stage to speak to her maker. With her back to them, blocking their view, Ilaria made a few last-minute adjustments to my outfit: tug, yank, sniff, sniff. Mr Northman sailed past us, not deigning to even look our way.  
"Come," he barked. He held the door open and allowed us to go through. As I passed, I caught his smell and I'm certain he caught mine, too. He smelled very faintly of the sea, that salty, briny, cold smell. And something else familiar. I was briefly tempted to pretend to stumble and fall into his armpit, but I restrained myself. He was very tall: when I passed, my head didn't quite make it to his collar bone. The large hand that held the door open above my head could have easily snaked around my neck and squeezed it tight. I hurried by.

He led us into an office and sat up against his desk, indicating that we should sit down on the long leather couch against the wall.  
"Why are you here, Moore, and what's this about?" he said to Ilaria, sgtraight to the point.  
Ilaria, who had not sat down, took a step forward and lay her index and middle finger across the pulse of her left hand, the traditional vampire gesture of supplication. Northman looked at her, amused.  
"The old ways are redundant here, Ms Moore," he said.  
To all of our surprise, she spoke to him in a language he knew – probably Swedish, of some vintage. Maybe even the Norse of his youth. Stephen and I exchanged glances, raising eyebrows in our respect for Ilaria's hidden talents.

Ilaria spoke long and energetically. Fortunately for us, Old Norse and Ilaria lacked the words for many of the concepts vital to their conversation, so we picked up 'charter', 'internet', 'culling', 'congress' and a few more. I later insisted I'd heard 'wifi and 'Facebook', but Stephen maintained I was just suffering the ill-effects of swilling my tequila sunrise in one go. Eric Northman watched her speak – he simply leaned against his desk, motionless, his eyes following her as she paced back and forth lecturing (was it?) and imploring (might it have been?) him in his native tongue. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even. He, too, spoke at length and did a lot of head-shaking. Ilaria listened politely, then her face broke into a hard smile, like ice cracking.  
"Maggie," she said and motioned for me to come over. Stephen squeezed my hand.  
 _Go, girl!_ his eyes said. _Showtime!_  
I stood up and walked over to Ilaria, my eyes dutifully downcast. The floor of the office was clean, but the tiles were cracked and shabby. I would've put down a nice laminate floor, myself.  
Ilaria switched to English.  
"This is Magdalena Maria Kennick," she said. "Grand-daughter of Big Seán Kennick and great-great-granddaughter of Mary Elizabeth van Helsaig Kennick and Thomas Seán Kennick."  
"Impressive pedigree," Mr Northman said. "But I don't like redheads. Is she a carrier, at least?"  
I bit my lip.  
"Of course," Ilaria said. "She has offered herself as tribute to Francis, king of the Dakotas, and Eva, the High Councillor of New York. She will give you her blood if you give us your word that you will do your best to sway opinion on the charter."  
There was silence. I became aware that I was being stared at, so I looked sideways at Stephen. He motioned down. I kept my eyes on the floor.

"So it's true, you're one of the carriers," he said. Given that it was directed at me, I looked up.  
"You know this already," I said frankly. "You can smell it."  
He grinned. He had a crooked nose and a bit of an overbite. I really couldn't see his appeal.  
"And can you smell me?" he asked. "They say that the carriers can smell us vampires, too."  
"Yes," I answered honestly.  
"And what do I smell like?" he looked amused, the way you do when you watch a child perform in front of a room full of adults.  
Fuck it, I thought. I don't do submissive well, anyway. I leaned in, on my tiptoes, till my nose was millimetres away from his cheek. He froze. I breathed deeply. And breathed again. Beneath the smell of his cologne, his shower gel, I could smell his skin. A muscle in his jaw worked, as though he wanted to say something, but he was still.  
"Cold sea, but the sea shore, not the open sea. I can smell seaweed and sand."  
"I'm Swedish," he said. "That's an easy guess."

He still hadn't moved. His mouth was practically next to mine. I leaned forward a minuscule amount to be close to his skin again. The top of my lip grazed the small hairs on his cheek. When I glanced down to concentrate, I could see his hands tighten on the edge of the desk, so I closed my eyes and breathed deep.  
I pulled back.  
"I smell … apples. And honey. With a little bit of spice. Probably your favourite, because you ate a lot of them and I can still smell them on your skin."  
He looked horror-struck and I grinned.  
"We won't tell anyone you have a sweet tooth. A sweet fang," I whispered.  
Ilaria cleared her throat.

"Nice party trick," said Pamela. "I'll be sure to stay at arm's length. I'm not sure I want to be … _smelled_."  
She didn't need to keep her distance. I had got her scent when we were introduced at the door. She had the dusky smell of face powder and sweet lilac.  
"But I'm not sure that dabbling in politics is the best thing for Eric to do, not after all we've been through. Don't you think, Eric?" Pamela asked.  
"Don't you think?" she repeated, when her maker said nothing. She turned to Ilaria with a _"See what I have to put up with?"_ expression on her face.  
There was silence. He was staring at me, calculatingly. I hoped he was hungry.  
Apparently he was.  
"I accept your tribute," he said finally. "You can count on my full support."  
Pamela snorted and snapped something at him in Swedish – blah, blah, blah, sucky. Blah, sucky, blah.  
It _was_ sucky, I thought, but there you go.

The atmosphere in the room had changed. Ilaria clapped her hands again, like a child, her dark hair swinging about her face as she whirled to hug a slightly-less-than-delighted Pamela. Stephen stood up and smoothed down his pants. He winked at me.  
In the meantime, I was removing my watch and pumping my fist to get the blood flowing nicely in the nook of my elbow. Or maybe Northamn preferred the wrist. I rubbed my pulse a bit as well.

He grabbed my lower arm. "The neck and the neck only."  
"No!" Stephen, Ilaria and I said it as one.  
"Sorry," I said. "I don't do the neck."  
"The neck or nothing," he said. His fingers circled my wrist easily, like a very big bracelet.  
"Eric – " Ilaria started.  
"The neck or nothing," he repeated. "If it's not the neck, I will simply withdraw my support. I can just stay here in little ol' Shreveport and say nothing. However, should anyone ask, I will be sure to let them know that you three turned up here – without your Empress' knowledge – to offer me her human carrier in order to illegally sway the southern vampires' votes. I don't know how it works nowadays in Europe, but we _American_ vampires – " he emphasized the word to show us just exactly which side of the fence he stood on – " don't take too kindly to manipulating voters."  
What a sneaky bastard, I thought. I glared up at him, but he ignored me, grinning.  
He stood up to his full height, easily towering over even Stephen, who was a little taller than average. I twisted in his grip to frown at Ilaria and Stephen, but they simply looked at me, helpless and stricken.

Eric bent his head to mine. This time it was my turn to freeze.  
"I will not hurt you, Ms Kennick," he said. "You will find that the neck is much less unpleasant than the arm, if it's done properly. And I assure you, I have had a lot of practice."  
And he grinned again, dropping fang. I jumped at the click. He stared at me and I realized he was trying to glamour me, the fool.  
"Northman," Ilaria said in a warning voice.  
"Okay, you can do it," I said. "And not because you glamoured me, because that shit doesn't work on me."  
This was not going the way any of us had planned, I thought. I could see no way out of the mess we'd just go ourselves in so, I supposed it was best to just get the whole rigmarole over with and be on our way to New Orleans.  
"Excellent," he said, grinning. He walked to the door of the office and motioned for the others to leave. Ilaria and Stephen grew loud in protest, but I just waved them out. Whatever. He was hardly going to drain me with them outside the door.

Eric sat back on the edge of the desk and spread his legs. Wordlessly, he pulled me in, still standing, so that my back was to him. He started to push my hair back but I did it myself. It was bad enough not to keep him – literally – at arm's length, he wasn't going to mess up my hair as well.

He leaned in and I winced. His fangs sank slowly into my neck and he drew blood. I suppressed a little "Ow!" and "Ew!" but relaxed when I realized that, after the initial pinch, it didn't hurt that much. He used his tongue to lick the wound, and whatever is in vampire saliva, it made it less painful. I stood still and let him suck, looking around his office. The seconds passed slowly, the only sounds were his. After a short time, I became aware that he was enjoying his meal a bit too much. One large hand lightly lay on my hip, the other was holding my shoulder – and yet he was poking me, if you catch my drift.

… _Aaaand_ that was enough.  
"Stop," I said. "Stop it."  
He didn't respond. I put a hand up and grabbed a fist of his hair, yanking his head back. He could've easily disregarded me, but he allowed me to pull him away. Slipping out of his grip, I regarded his bloody face. He was grinning broadly, his fangs extended, and the collar of his black t-shirt glistened with my blood.

"See? That wasn't too bad now, was it?"  
"You're one hell of a messy eater," I remarked, as he dabbed his clothes with a cloth. I pressed my fingers to the puncture holes.  
"And you're _delicious_. The tequila was a good choice," he said, and then he paused. "Who do you belong to, Ms Kennick?"  
I was so sick of that question. I'd been asked it dozens of times in dozens of ways in dozens of states.  
"I'm of the Five Families," I snapped. "I don't need to belong to a vampire. You should know this, you were turned in Europe. It's Vampire Studies 101."  
I felt irritated and a little light-headed because greedy Mr Northman had taken quite a bit of my blood. I hoped he wouldn't preposition me, offer me his bleeding wrist and request that we form a symbiosis because that was just plain embarrassing. Turning down horny vampires was starting to get old.

But he didn't. He stood up, opened the door and ushered the waiting vampires back in. Ilaria took me in her arms and hugged me. I leaned into her and smelled her spice. Stephen hovered, unsure. I could feel him vibrating with fury.  
"I think we should go," I said.  
"We will be in touch, Mr Northman," she said. "Pamela and I have exchanged contact details. I've already told you how I wish you to proceed. Please see to it that you begin your task immediately."  
Her voice was cold and clipped and a little bit shaky. She took a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed my neck, then licked her fingers and patted the wound so it might close before we had to walk through the bar.  
"I'll see you to your car," Eric said. He pulled me gently from Ilaria's arms and led me out. I allowed myself be pulled away. When we entered the bar, he draped an arm over my shoulders. The vampires on either side of us shrank back, pulling their confused human companions with them. They could smell my blood on Eric's t-shirt but his arm around my shoulders rendered me completely off-limits. It felt weird, like being under an invisibility cloak. He steered me easily through the patrons and out the front door.

We crossed the parking lot. It had started to rain, the potholes were filling with dirty water. Stephen got into the driver's side and slammed the door shut. Ilaria and Pamela embraced again, Ilaria got into the passenger's seat.  
" _So_ nice to meet you," Pamela said, her voice tinged with a southern drawl. " _Terribly_ sorry it was like this, but _do_ come again."  
We might have been at an antebellum tea party on someone's veranda. "Goodbye, Pam," I said.  
I was still standing pressed up to the big vampire. He released me reluctantly, it felt, and opened the car door. I slipped into the back of the car and looked up to say goodbye.  
"You can still see the marks on her neck," he said. "The Empress will not be pleased. She needs some vampire blood to heal."  
"She'll get some," Stephen said. Eric dropped fang and, quick as a flash, pricked his finger on one. He swiped the wound before I could put up my hands to shove him away.  
"Hey!" I shouted angrily. "He gave me his blood!"

Stephen and Ilaria were out of the car in an instant, I felt where the wound had been on my neck – gone. As was my dizziness and fatigue. Mr Northman had old blood and its effects were instantaneous. Still, he had committed a major no-no by giving me his blood unasked and unwanted. Ilaria and Stephen were shouting at him in various languages: English, Norse, Stephen's clipped German, but Northman just laughed.  
"Come on," I said, leaning out of the car. "Just forget it. Come _on._ "  
A small crowd of onlookers had gathered at the entrance to the bar, watching the curious spectacle. It was not good for the purpose of our mission to be any more conspicuous than we had already been.  
"Get in," I hissed.  
They got back into the car, while Pamela flapped her hands in embarrassment and the big Viking smirked complacently. He stood with his arms folded across his chest as we pulled out of the car park, not moving a muscle till we turned a corner and out of his sight.

We pulled into an all-night truck stop so I could get something to eat. I was suddenly _starving_. My companions pretended to drink coffees; Ilaria shredded a napkin and fretted. The truck stop was in the middle of nowhere, and the other patrons in this joint didn't exactly look like the kind of friendly folk that would welcome two vampires, much less two foreign vampires, passing through. Stephen and Ilaria pretended to sip their drinks and apologized for what had happened.  
"You have his blood!" Stephen kept saying. With a jolt it occurred to me that Stephen had probably hoped that he would be the one to give me his blood. It would've made sense: he had rank, he had pedigree, he was based in Dublin, too, and he and I got on well. We could've formed a very nice symbiosis and maybe even something more. He was so angry at Eric Northman's healing swoosh that I could finally recognize that he liked me. Maybe even quite a bit.

Ilaria felt so bad that I couldn't be angry with her for her part in what had happened. The fact that she was enduring all of the unpleasant smells of sweaty truck drivers and greasy food, watching me in the even more unpleasant act of eating (something most vampires would rather not do, right up there with watching a human peeing or – God forbid – pooing) was testimony to how bad she felt.  
"Look," I said, hardly believing what I was planning to say, "no harm, no foul. You say he'll do what he's been asked. He got his blood and it didn't hurt as much as I expected. Sure, I got a tiny drop of his, but I'm not going to see him again, so it won't matter. If he manages to sense my emotions all the way up here from New Orleans, then I pity him. Most days I just feel a mixture of exhaustion and boredom. So let's just lighten up and leave the whole Shreveport fiasco behind us."  
Ilaria patted my hand and quickly wiped a bloody eye before anyone noticed she was crying. Stephen looked at me long and hard, narrowing his grey eyes till they were nearly slits.  
"You're right," he said. "Let's leave it behind us."  
Happily I looked down at my plate – and saw the ketchup smeared across the cheap white porcelain. It reminded me of the streaks on Northman's bloody face. I suddenly lost my appetite.  
I put down my napkin.  
"Are you two finished?" I asked. "Let's keep going or we won't get there before dawn."  
Stephen called for the check and paid. I spent the rest of the journey looking out the window into the Louisiana darkness, reading billboard advertisements and touching the skin on my neck where I'd been bitten.

If anyone noticed that we checked in just before sunrise, no one mentioned it. The hotel was part of the huge vampire conference centre where the congress was going to take place. The rooms were tastefully decorated to recreate different eras and care was taken to match vampires with an era close to their turning or their choosing. Ilaria chose a room in the style of the 18th century, Stephen and I were too exhausted to care. Thus he ended up in something Art Deco-ish and I was stuck in a generic pastel hotel room with cheap art prints on the walls. I had a feeling that this was where they plopped all their human guests.

No matter. I was so tired I found myself swaying under the warm water of the shower. I scrubbed off the smell of Fangtasia, the faint bloody fingerprints of Mr Northman's large digits, then crawled into bed. I didn't bother to set an alarm. I just let sleep reach out and grab my ankle, pulling me down into its dark, velvety depths.


	7. Chapter 7

VII

"Eric?"  
He turned his head to press his face against the warmth of her woollen dress. She pulled the big shawl around them both, cocooning him in its warmth. His legs - already too long for his nine years - dangled off her lap, but the rest of his thin little body was hidden under the heavy cloth, leaving only a tuft of blond hair exposed.

He nestled against his mother's warmth. His father had chided him again before dinner, in front of the assembled people in the Great Hall. Eric had been told to chop a pile of firewood but he hadn't managed to finish it.  
"He only managed two thirds of it," his father thundered, "so he shall only get two thirds of his dinner."  
And so Eric had to watch while everyone else ate and enjoyed their baked apples for dessert. His sister Mina made a show of scooping out the warm honeyed nuts with her fingers, eating them rapturously, while Eric sat by staring at his empty plate.

After dinner, as was his habit on certain evenings, he sneaked into his parents' bedchamber. His mother always excused herself after dinner and withdrew, saying she needed to fetch her shawl. She usually did not return. Her husband and the others in the hall never even remarked on her leaving - it was simply what she did and they accepted that she sometimes liked to be alone. Often she just sat in the relative quiet of their chamber, the only time of day when she could be by herself. Not that she seemed to mind when Eric pushed the door open a crack and slid in. She pulled him on to her lap and created a little cave of warmth on her knee.

"Everyone is preparing you to be a big, strong man," she whispered - they had to be quiet, no need to draw a passing servant's attention to themselves "- but they forget that you are still but a little boy."  
And from underneath the corner of her shawl, she produced a honey apple for Eric. He turned it over in his little hands, sinking his teeth into it with delight. His mother hugged him closer.  
"I love you, Mama," he whispered.  
"I love you too, little mouse."  
"Will you always love me?" He asked, suddenly anxious.  
"Forever and ever."  
"And ever and ever?"  
"Until the end of time," she promised and kissed the top of his head. He lay his head against her beating heart and smelled her warm skin. He wished he could stay there forever.

Eric Northman woke suddenly and sat up, banging his head against the coffin lid. He flailed in the darkness for a couple of moments: he could still smell her, the side of his face felt the warmth of her breast. His ears were filled with the _thump-thump-thump_ of her heart. His fingers found the button that opened the coffin and he sat up. He was in his own house, his own night room.  
She was gone.  
For the first time in centuries, in a millennium, he felt bereft at his mother's loss. He put his fingers to his face and felt his skin. His cheeks were streaked with bloody tears.

He stood at the sink in his bathroom and stared at his woeful face. What had just happened? He rarely dreamed – vampires in general seldom had dreams. They didn't sleep, so how could they dream? Their down-time was black oblivion, not haunted by images of lives past. Eric Northman hadn't thought about his family in years. Truth be told, he thought he had forgotten what they looked like, but now when he closed his eyes, he could see every line and wrinkle of his mother's face. What was more, he could smell her, he could feel her soft skin and sense her warmth. When he opened his eyes, one hand was outstretched towards the bathroom mirror. The dream-memory was so vivid, his body was arching towards it without his control.

He went to Fangtasia in a haze. He spent two hours on his throne with his eyes closed, trying to capture what he'd woken to that evening. But the more he thought about it, the more he concentrated, the less focused and gradually more faint the memory became. By the time his was free to leave his throne and return to his office, his mother's face was unclear. Like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy: the image was still there but it was no longer sharply in focus.

"Do you ever dream?" he asked Pam when she came into the office for more vodka.  
"Dream?" she answered incredulously. "I don't know when I last had a dream."  
She pronounced the word with distaste, but then she perked up. "Have _you_ had a dream?"  
"Yes," he said. "A really vivid one."  
"That was the carrier's blood, then. They say that they can trigger memories, but it was never the case for me. Haven't you ever had a carrier before?"  
"I have," Eric conceded, "but not one as concentrated as the redhead. And no dreams."  
Pam stood in the doorway, a bottle of vodka in each hand.  
"So what did you dream of?" she asked curiously.  
"My mother," Eric said and flipped up the lid of his laptop to show her the conversation was finished.

He started to email some contacts he'd made, some of the friendships he'd built up, among the vampire ranks across the US. He thought carefully about the wording of his emails, trying to establish where their loyalties lay. He'd given his word to the Moorish woman and so he was obliged to help them with their cause. After a few sentences he paused and pressed his thumbnail against his teeth. He was only inches away from where he'd had the carrier woman's blood the night before. He thought about her very white skin and the taste of fruit and orange juice in her blood. He wanted her, Eric decided. No, not her. He wanted access to her strange blood. He wanted access to the strange blood that would allow him access the things he'd forgotten. He wanted to sleep.

He wanted to dream.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII

I woke in total darkness, not knowing where I was. I peered at the luminous dial on my watch and saw that it was 4.35. Morning or afternoon? My fuddled brain tried to make sense of it all.

Suddenly I remembered: I was in the vampire conference centre outside New Orleans. My fingers flew to my neck as I recalled what had happened the night before: Fangtasia. Pamela. Eric Northman. I felt a weird, sickening thump in my stomach. What had we done?

With great effort, I pulled myself out of the bed and felt around on the wall beside the bed for light switches, then located the cord that would pull up the blinds on the window. Outside the late afternoon light was fading rapidly; the day had been murky and wet and what little light there had been was disappearing rapidly into evening mist. Another day had passed without me seeing natural light, I thought. During the last six weeks, I had kept vampire hours and I was beginning to miss the light of day – however little of it there was in early December.

I pulled out one of the smarter suits which I had carefully packed in my suitcase. I hadn't seen much of the convention centre when we arrived close to dawn, but what I had seen was very tastefully decorated and rather swish. I picked out a sky blue blouse that was just a little wrinkled and hung it from the towel rack in the bathroom when I took a shower. By the time I got out, the blouse was reasonably presentable and I had done another thorough scrub of my person, trying to remove any lingering traces of Fangtasia. I buttoned the blouse and, teamed with the grey tailored blazer and matching pants, I looked quite smart – at least I thought so. I brushed my hair and arranged it into a top knot and carefully did my make up, then made my way to the elevators and downstairs to the lobby.

The lobby was strangely empty. Of course, the vampires probably weren't up yet but based on how rapidly it was getting dark, it wouldn't be long before they rose. The two women at the reception desk beamed at me in unison, with almost unnaturally straight white teeth. The woman on my right was black, her hair was braided into an elaborate topknot that put mine to shame. The woman on my left was blonde with incredibly blue eyes, a feature she drew attention to with liberal amounts of blue mascara. On anyone else it might've looked like a throwback to an Abba album cover; on her it looked edgy and retro. They were both beautiful, lacquered perfection, and their smiles did not waver or falter as I approached the desk, painfully aware of my crooked teeth, freckles and chickenpox scar.

"How can we help you?" asked Beautiful Ms Topknot.  
"I'm looking for members of my party," I answered stiffly.  
"The vampires have not risen yet," said Beautiful Ms Blue Eyes. "But some of the humans are in the Orchid Bar."  
And then, perfectly synchronized, two manicured hands - black and white - gestured to a set of glass doors. I thanked them and they nodded, still smiling. I scuttled away. They weren't real, I decided. They were probably Stepford Receptionists.

I found Sonja and Hans-Peter at a table in the bar. They each had a coffee in front of them and empty plates that suggested they'd already had breakfast – or supper. Our routines were so haywire, it was hard to keep track. I ordered a coffee and was glad to see that they served snacks and pastries during the day. My kind of bar. I ate a Danish, licking the apricot jam from my fingertips, and we discussed Dallas again and our new, glamorous surroundings. Although the Empress and her entourage had arrived a couple of hours before dawn the previous night, the Queen of Louisiana hadn't been there to greet them. Sonja said the Queen's lackeys had insisted that they rest and recuperate from their journey from Texas and not feel obliged to add the stress of meeting the Louisiana court to the travails of a long night. On the face of it, it was very solicitous. It could also be construed as very rude, but Empress Moya was taking the high road. It was solicitous. Of course.

As we spoke, a loud gong echoed through the bar and hotel lobby. We all looked up, startled. The Stepford Receptionists' smiles seem to increase in wattage, their backs became straighter. I looked over at the man who'd served my coffee.  
"The Queen has risen," he said solemnly.  
If that was weird, things quickly got weirder. Vampires started to assemble in the foyer: I saw Ilaria and Stephen being ushered down the stairs by a vampire in blue livery. I stood up and waved to grab their attention, but they didn't see me. Empress Moya descended the stairs, followed by her vampire lady-in-waiting. She was wearing a slim chocolate-brown dress, her hair loose and tucked behind her ears. She did see me, all the way across the foyer and through the doors of the café. She held my gaze for a second and then surveyed those assembled. As we watched, the gong sounded again and the Queen Catherine of Louisiana opened a pair of large, ornate wooden doors at the far end of the lobby and came forward, flanked by vampires in the same blue livery and followed by half-a-dozen attendants. The Queen had been in her late forties or fifties when she'd been turned; she was a little stout and matronly. Her blond hair was flicked back off her face in a style that reminded me a bit of Princess Diana – surely she wasn't modeling herself on the former Princess of Wales? The Queen wore a neat two-piece suit that looked vaguely Chanel-esque, around her neck with a string of pearls. She approached the Empress and dipped in a curtsey, before rising and kissing her on each cheek. Then the Queen signalled with her hand and the doors were held open by her footmen as all of the vampires were ushered through.

Sonja, Hans-Peter and I gathered our things and hurried into the lobby, but we were stopped at the door of the bar by one of the Queen's blue-clothed staff.  
"Vampires only," he said.  
"But we're with the Empress," Sonja protested.  
"Vampires only," he repeated.  
"We are of the Five Families," she said, indignant.  
"Vampires only."  
And he walked off.  
The three of us stood in the empty foyer, astounded. Hans Peter shrugged.  
"Then I go watch the TV," he said.  
He pronounced it "tee-wee". Under other circumstance I would've been delighted, but I was too confused by what had just happened to appreciate his German accent. Sonja followed him towards the elevator and I scuttled after them. Wordlessly, we returned to our rooms. I kicked off my high heels and turned on the telly, my phone on the bed beside me in case Ilaria or Stephen might text me and let me know what was going on.

They didn't.

I watched a 'Mission Impossible' marathon on one of the hotel's in-house movie channels. Halfway through the third one, I ordered some sandwiches from room service. By that time, I'd changed out of my suit and into my pyjamas. I finished the film and crawled into bed to watch the fourth. I don't know exactly when I fell back asleep, but when I woke up, the first film was playing again. I cleared the empty plate from my bed, brushed my teeth and turned off the TV. Before I fell asleep, I checked my phone for the thousandth time. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing.

And that's how I spent my first night in New Orleans.

I woke mid-afternoon the next day and explored as much as I could of the convention centre. It was huge: an enormous rectangular building with a large courtyard within. The outside walls were patrolled by guards. I knew this because I'd just walked out of the hotel's front door and turned to walk down the street when an armed guard approached me and asked where I was going. When I told him I was going for a walk, he looked at me as though he didn't understand.  
"Where to?" he asked.  
"Just around," I said. "You know: for a walk."  
He appraised me carefully and suggested that I take a walk in the courtyard. He called me "ma'am". I was about to argue when his walkie-talkie crackled and he answered with a curt "Yes?", looking over my shoulder. I followed his gaze and saw another guard at the corner of a hotel, holding what looked like a machine gun. I suddenly realized that this place was as heavily guarded as a prison, so I turned on my heel and went back inside.

The courtyard was open to the elements, so vampire guests at the hotel could take a stroll through its carefully-tended garden and sit by its beautifully arranged pool, with the moon and stars above their heads. I walked the courtyard up and down, noting all the doors that were guarded by men in those blue uniforms. I ate a meal – lunch? dinner? – in the restaurant at the opposite end of the courtyard. There were a number of humans there but they didn't seem to be connected with the centre or the Queen, they were at the centre to visit the restaurant and enjoy the good food. And it was delicious. I didn't mind eating on my own: the staff discreetly gave me a table for one behind a voluminous fern, so I could eat my roast lamb in peace and quiet without pitying stares from the other diners.

When the evening gong sounded, I rushed back to the foyer but there were no familiar vampires about. When I went back upstairs to my room, I found Ilaria sitting at my dressing table, looking decidedly glum. I hugged her and sat on the end of the bed.  
"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" she asked.  
I needed to rip the bandage. "Bad news," I said and braced myself for what was to come.  
"Queen Catherine does not require us to hold our speeches and presentations. Instead you will be introduced to her at a greeting ceremony at midnight on Friday. Full formal evening dress, if you don't mind."  
That's not the way we'd done it so far, but things were clearly different in America's vampire capital.  
"That's two days away. What are we to do till then?"  
"The Queen has arranged some tours of New Orleans for our human companions."  
"During the _day_?" I asked.  
Ilaria nodded.  
I tried to make sense of it. "But shouldn't we be awake with you guys at night?"  
"Apparently not," she said stiffly. "Apparently your interference in vampire affairs is not required."  
It sounded like she was quoting someone. I didn't dare to ask who.  
"And what's the good news?"  
"There is none," she said shortly. "I lied. There's just bad news and worse news."  
I felt a chill run down my back. "Do you want to tell me here?" I asked and mouthed, "Isn't the room bugged?"  
Ilaria shook her head. "We have friends on the inside," she said cryptically. "Apparently you're not important enough to bug."  
I was a little insulted, but just a little and not for long.

Ilaria continued.  
"When the Empress asked if we could hold the summit at the New Orleans centre, Queen Catherine said – and I quote – 'be my guest'. Meaning, Empress Moya thought, that we were welcome to use the facilities here. We'd organise it, host it and hold it in New Orleans as a concession to the American vampires."  
Actually, I thought, it was probably because the vampire parliament room in their Dublin headquarters was tiny, nowhere big enough or grand enough for a meeting on this scale.  
"But last night we were informed that we are literally Queen Catherine's guests. The summit is to be held on her terms, organized by her people. We have no say in the schedule of debates or events, nothing. The Empress is a guest at her own summit."  
I was stunned. "But what about – us?" I asked. All of the entourage had been hired to do specific tasks in preparation for the huge influx of vampires for the summit.  
"Well, you're umemployed," Ilaria said. "After the ball on Friday evening, you are not needed."  
"What am I supposed to do for the next three weeks?" I wailed. "Am I supposed to fly home and then come back?"  
Ilaria shrugged. "Probably," she said. "The Queen has made it quite clear that we can't be taking up valuable hotel rooms at such a busy time of year. She has invited the King of Dallas and a few other dignitaries to come early and _talk through the proposals_." She made air-quotes this time. "The Empress and her nearest and dearest will be tolerated till the summit starts, but the rest of you are superfluous and expensive space-wasters."  
It was a lot to process.  
"How's the Empress?" I asked.  
Ilaria rolled her eyes. "Livid," she said. "You have to imagine that this entire spectacle went down with lots of smiling and bowing and 'dear Empress' this and 'esteemed Empress' that. But what can Moya do? If she protests and insists on taking over, the Queen will pretended to be offended and the American vampires will see more evidence of how the pushy European Empress is trying to bully poor Queen Catherine – who was only doing her best after all."  
She checked her watch. "I have to return," she said. "Our dear Queen is subjecting us to some kind of lecture about the history of vampires in Louisiana and we all have to attend."  
Ilaria stood up and planted a kiss on each of my cheeks. Her brown eyes were worried and looked weary. I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and gave her a quick hug.  
"Just keep me posted," I said. "Let me know what's going on."  
She promised she would and then left.

I was woken by loud knocking at the ungodly hour of 10 am the next morning. I hadn't seen 10 am in weeks and weeks, my body didn't know how to function before noon any more. When I opened the door, I found a dazzlingly smiley couple in the corridor. They wore blue blazers in the colour I'd begun to recognize as part of the Queen's official insignia, and they looked like summer camp counsellors or some kind of missionary. One thing was for sure, whatever conveyor belt the Stepford Receptionists had come off, this pair was from the same source.

They introduced themselves as Rob (Caucasian, hair gelled into place like a Lego man's, broad-shouldered and manly in a college-football-team kind of way) and Katie (Asian, hair cut in a blunt Cleopatra style, manicured blue fingernails to match her blazer.) They were far too chirpy and enthusiastic for such an early hour of the morning. I excused myself politely, got dressed and brushed my hair. When I opened the door again, they were still standing there with the same insane grins. I don't think they'd even moved a muscle.

In the foyer downstairs all of the human members of the Empress's entourage – bar Tomas Ardelean – were assembled. Tweedledee and Tweedledum rounded us up and led us out to a minibus. We were driven into the centre of New Orleans, with Rob and Katie giving us a running commentary all the way. They took us on a tour of the French Quarter and allowed time to take photos and admire the architecture, particularly Pietro, who was an architect in his native Italy. New Orleans was really beautiful and although Rob and Katie continued to remind me of automatons – really, their tour commentary was delivered like they were reading from an invisible autocue, complete with directions to smile and make a sad face whenever they mentioned the words 'Hurricane Katrina' – it was the first time in weeks that I'd been out during the day, away from the vampires and vampire politics. I turned my face upwards to the weak winter sunshine, drinking in as much vitamin D as I could.

By the time we got back to the hotel in the evening, we were all footsore and weary, but Rob and Katie were still beaming on full wattage. Our vampires had already risen and had been summoned behind the fancy doors to Queen Catherine's private quarters, so the only people visible in the hotel were visiting vampires and humans, mostly there to have drinks in the bar or dinner in the restaurant. We had a few drinks, huddled together away from the other hotel visitors, and then went to bed. I couldn't help but feel that we'd been deliberately kept away from the Empress and the rest of the court all day long: not so much _entertained_ as _occupied_. Tidied up, out of the way.

The next morning when Rob and Katie hammered on my door, I was dressed and ready for them. We spent the day visiting museums: a Mardi Gras museum. A jazz museum. An exhibit about New Orleans before and after Hurricane Katrina. As the day wore on, I started to get used to Rob and Katie's chatter; it wasn't their fault they'd been hired as tour robots, after all. Over dinner at a nice Cajun restaurant, Rob asked me about my job in Dublin, so I told him about the work at the museum.  
"That's the National History Museum, right? I hear you guys have an outstanding collection of Celtic artefacts," he said. "I remember reading an article about it online."  
"That's right," I said and began to eagerly tell him about the National Museum's more interesting pieces. I was interrupted by the discreet cough of the waiter, who wanted to ask Rob something about the bill, and as they were talking, I heard Katie engage Pietro:  
"You're from Perugia - in Umbria, right? Am I correct in thinking that Perugia is home to Galeazzo Alessi?" she said. "I remember reading an article about him online."  
" _Si, si_ ," he responded enthusiastically. "Are you familiar with his buildings?"  
 _How strange that she should know some architect from Pietro's hometown_ , I thought and then, with a flash, it occurred to me that they'd studied us. They probably had a dossier on each of us. They'd been _schooled_ in what to talk to us about.

When Rob leaned back in to continue our conversation, I decided to test him. I asked him which of the museum pieces he'd found most interesting and he glibly named a few – the gold crescent-shaped collars (he even correctly called them _lunulae_. Clever boy. Top of class), the gold torcs.  
"Did you read about the leprechaun pieces?" I asked.  
His smooth forehead crinkled in thought. "No," he said, face reverting to its default grin.  
I told him an elaborate story about the famed gold knotwork made by leprechaun craftsmen and he nodded along, pretending to have read something about it online. He even went so far as to describe a piece of jewellery that he'd seen a photo of in another online article – made by Spanish leprechauns. I nodded solemnly and tried not to laugh. But when they finally deposited us at the hotel and said their goodbyes (with Hurricane-Katrina-level sad faces), I told the others and we laughed till tears poured down our faces. All of us except Pietro, that it.  
"That's just fucking creepy," he said. "Studying us."  
That sobered us up. He was right.

Damn you, Rob and Katie, I thought the next morning. It was Friday and my body clock was askew. The Queen's ball was that evening and I was trying to stay in bed as long as I could so I would be rested for the long night ahead. No hope. I got up and moped around a bit. The hotel was quiet – I began to miss Rob and Katie and the white noise of their conversation.

During the afternoon I went to Empress Moya's human lady-in-waiting. Silvia's job was to look after all of her clothes, but she was also in charge of our formalwear as well. I'd never had an evening gown before, much less two, but Ilaria had taken me shopping in Dublin and expanded my sartorial horizon. Both dresses had been pressed but I decided on the navy one. It was more staid and conservative, an empire-line dress that had a beautiful paisley shawl in navy and copper to match. The other dress was a deep sage green that looked beautiful against my reddish hair, but it had a plunging neckline and a low back. New Orleans' Princess Diana lookalike would not approve. I could just picture Queen Catherine sniffing at my excess of exposed flesh.

After I had showered, Ilaria came by and did my hair, catching me up on the events of the past two days – the grovelling and back-stabbing, the power struggles encased in polite smiles and elaborate vampire protocol. She even sounded a bit envious of our time spent with Rob and Katie. Doing my hair, though, was Ilaria's way of relaxing. She loved doing hair – hers, mine, anyone willing to give her a loan of their head. She was going to try to do something in Grecian style to match the dress and she had a fistful of colourful foam rods to help her. She brushed my hair – sigh, so red, so wavy and fine, so unruly – and twisted most of it up into a bun, fixing it into place with a lot of hair spray and pins and curses (mine). The neon-coloured curling rods were twisted around my head: with a bit of persuasion, the strands of hair could be coerced into tantalizing curls to frame my face. When she was finished twisting them in, I looked quite mad but she assured me it would be gorgeous when it was done.

I did her hair in turn: there wasn't much to do because Ilaria's straightened her naturally curly hair ("It's kinky!" she shrieked, "kinky!" – really, hair is a very touchy subject for her) every single day. I just brushed it out and used a few tiny diamanté clips to pin it loosely into place. We looked at each other.  
"Not bad," I said. Unlike me, she was already dressed. Her gown was a cream coloured shift dress that looked beautiful against her dark skin and black hair.  
"Perfectly presentable," she grinned. Then her smile faltered and she cleared her throat.  
"I should probably tell you that Eric Northman is here."  
I groaned. "You're not serious, are you?"  
"He's one of her sheriffs, so it's not surprising. Just stay cool and stay away from him. Stephen is freaking out already."  
"Why is _Stephen_ freaking out?"  
"Because you've had his blood. He thinks you'll be throwing yourself at him like some kind of wanton hussy."  
A wanton hussy. Nice.  
Ilaria paused delicately. "You might have noticed that Stephen … eh… likes you."  
"I noticed," I said grimly. A bit too late, but I noticed.  
"You haven't had… dreams about Mr Northman, have you?"  
"Dreams?" I repeated, then realized what she was asking. I'd heard about some of the more interesting side effects of vampire blood. "No, no dreams. I really don't think I got enough blood to have the dreams."  
"Good," said Ilaria. "Stephen will be most pleased."  
She kissed me and left.

Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I flung it open, expecting to see Ilaria, back to pick up something she'd left behind.  
But it wasn't.  
It was Eric Northman.  
He looked me up and down. And smirked.

Okay, so here's the deal: Eric Northman didn't mean anything to me but that also didn't mean that I wanted him to see me in my dressing gown with a halo of fluorescent green and pink Styrofoam pipes twisted like crazy worms around my head. I looked like a lunatic.  
"Can I come in?" he asked politely, barely concealing a grin. "Or is this a bad time?"  
"You think?" I snarled.  
He was already dressed in his full formal gear: white tie, tail coat. I didn't like to admit it, but he looked really handsome.  
Then I checked myself. Even a baboon would look handsome in a dinner suit.  
"I just wanted to enquire after your well-being," he said. "After our meeting in Shreveport."  
"Shut up," I hissed and pulled him inside.  
He looked down on me from his great height and prodded one of the curlers.  
"Get lost," I said and slapped his hand away.  
"Is this the fashion now?" he wondered. "It looks really strange."  
"What do you really want, Eric?"  
"I told you: I wanted to see how you were."  
"Fine, thank you." I opened the door and nodded pointedly in the direction of the hall.  
"You haven't been dreaming about me, have you?" he enquired.  
I slammed the door shut again. What was it with the dreams?  
"No, I most certainly have not," I snapped.  
"No … sex dreams?" Honestly, he had a smirk on his face that made my blood boil.  
"You wish!" I hissed.  
"Because we probably will have sex eventually," he said casually, "Your attraction to me will probably start with the dreams."  
I made some strangled noise of disgust, yanked the door open, and then placed a hand in the small of his back and shoved him in the direction of the hallway. He grinned and allowed himself be pushed.  
"See you later, future lover," he called softly as I slammed the door shut in his face.  
"Fuck off!" I answered, through the door. I heard his low laugh as he walked away.

Bleurgh. I wanted to take another shower.


	9. Chapter 9

IX

Just before the ball started, I removed the twisted curlers and arranged the curls to fall about my face. Ilaria was right: it looked very pretty. I put in my diamond drop earrings, picked up my shawl and took the stairs down to the foyer, savouring each step in my long gown.

Stephen had been waiting for me and his face lit up when I came down the steps. He looked really attractive in his dinner jacket, his dark hair combed to one side. When he saw me, he gave a tidy little bow. Stephen looked as though he belonged in a formal suit and I knew by the way he bowed that it was something he had done hundreds of times in his human lifetime. I paused at the top of the stairs and grinned at him. I felt a bit like Kate Winslet in _Titanic_. I really wanted to relish my moment of stair-descent in my fancy frock, but the foyer was crowded and I had to jostle past all of the people, human and vampire, on their way to the ballroom. I was finally allowed to pass through the ornate doors in the lobby, I got to see what had been closed off to us humans thus far. Stephen linked my arm in his and led me down the carpeted corridor. Even though there were a lot of people around us, I could admire the paintings on the walls on either side. A lot of them seemed to be of the Queen and many of them seemed quite old. I would have to come back and study them more carefully, I thought, if I were allowed back through the doors. I could hear the band playing all the way down the hall – gentle classical music that barely covered the sound of laughter and conversation. Inside the huge room, people were standing around with glasses of red liquid – all of the drinks were red. Artificial blood, wine, a variety of red-coloured cocktails. It was very tastefully done, indeed: humans and vampires could clink glasses without having to give a second thought to what the other was drinking.

The ballroom was full. People in beautiful evening wear mingled and chatted. The room was lit by low-hanging chandeliers; the walls were lined with chairs covered in the Queen's signature blue, the large floor-to-ceiling windows draped with blue curtains. Everything else was white: the walls, the flowers, the cloths covering the tables that held the glasses and refreshments. I breathed in the entire scene - it looked like a film set. I couldn't help but beam and Stephen smiled back down at me, delighted at my delight.

A tall, spare vampire approached us. He was wearing a blue bow-tie, so I knew immediately he was one of the Empress' retainers. When he spoke, it was with that odd mid-Atlantic accent that actors in Hollywood films favoured in the 1930s and 1940s.  
"Are you the Kennick?" he asked.  
"Yes," I said. "I am she."  
"When I give the signal, you are to come forward and form a line with the rest of your party in accordance to your seniority: legislators, ladies-in-waiting, first assistants, Five Families by age – Ardelean, Romarro, Jäger, Helsaig and Kennick – " he counted us off on his fingers "- then the lesser ranking vampires, beginning with Mr Hofmann" (he nodded at Stephen) "and then the humans. Understood?"  
"Seniority. Got it," I said.  
"You will be presented to her Majesty by my good self in the esteemed presence of her Imperial Majesty," he intoned. "I trust you are cognizant of the solemnity of the occasion."  
"I am cognizant," I answered. My lips twitched, trying to not to laugh.

I waited till he was out of vampire hearing range.  
"Pompous old fart," I whispered to Stephen. He shushed me but I could tell he was trying not to laugh as well. We got our drinks – I had a red wine and Stephen decided to have another wild night with a glass of AB - then we mingled, chatting to Ilaria and a couple of other Irish vampires. I was introduced to some of the Louisiana court. The Queen's European-turned entourage viewed me with slight reservation – hardly surprising, I thought, my ancestors had probably tried to stake a few of them. But the American-born vampires were fun and far less stuffy than I imagined they would be, given the extent to which their Queen was trying to create a vampire version of Buckingham Palace in the New Orleans suburbs.

After a time, Queen Catherine ("Her most gracious majesty, Queen Catherine of Louisiana," said the pompous vampire with the plummy voice) and Empress Moya ("Her most excellent imperial majesty, Empress Moya of the European Territories and the countries of Northern Africa!") entered the ballroom arm-in-arm – best chums for all the world to see, not the slightest hint that they'd spent the past three nights at each others' throats – and ascended the dais that held two heavy, carved thrones, one slightly bigger than the other. The Empress took the larger chair, the Queen sat at her side in the other. As far as I knew, all protocol demanded that the Empress sit higher than the Queen, so I was puzzled at the placing of the thrones. I wanted to ask Stephen but he saw the question on forming on my lips and shook his head to keep me quiet. I turned back to listen to their speeches – lots of thanking each other for their most gracious and serene and excellent majesticnesses, or whatever – and caught sight of Eric Northman, head and shoulders above the people around him. He pointed at my head, twirling his fingers, and pulled a clown-like puzzled face.  
"What happened to your hair?" he mouthed at me across the room.  
I looked snootily away.

Mr Pompous gave us a nod and the European contingent came forward. We got into line as instructed, even though it felt a bit like a child's party game as we tried to arrange ourselves according to some scale of importance and rank. Ilaria was near the top, as was befitting her role in the Empress's entourage. She curtsied elegantly and said a few words in answer to Catherine's questions. I couldn't hear what she said, but Ilaria looked relieved when they moved from her to the next person in line. The Queen was led down the hall by the tall vampire and formally introduced to each of us. The Empress stood by her side and smiled at us proudly.

When she came to me, Mr Pompous announced me as "Miss Magdalena Maria Kennick," and I did a kind of bob that was supposed to approximate a curtsey.  
"Your majesty," I said.  
Her majesty looked me up and down.  
"So this is your carrier," said the Queen. She had a rather nasal voice and a marked Southern accent.  
"She is one of them, yes," said Empress Moya.  
"I hear she was offered in tribute to the King of the Dakotas," the Queen remarked.  
Moya paused a second, a fraction of a second, then answered smoothly, "Yes, she was. But we would be honoured to offer her blood to you as tribute as well, dear Catherine."  
The Queen wrinkled her nose. "I don't think _she_ would be to my taste. I have my own carriers," she emphasized the plural somewhat. I sank my gaze, aware that my lovely blood had been slighted in some way.  
"How do you find Louisiana, Miss Kennick?" Catherine continued, allowing her insult no time to sting.  
"I haven't seen much so far, Ma'am," I said, "But New Orleans is really wonderful."  
"You haven't seen much?" She feigned surprise. "I heard that you and your companions made a stop in Shreveport on the way here."

My heart actually missed a beat. I know this because when it restarted, it did so with a _plop_ and then a series of rapid thumps.  
"That is correct," I admitted.  
"Visiting old friends?" she enquired, with a knowing smile.  
"Yes. My companion Ilaria knows a vampire there, one by the name of Pamela – "  
"- de Beaufort," finished the Queen. "Proprietress of a _fun_ little bar called Fangtasia."  
Empress Moya was staring at me and I did not like the way she looked. She'd known we were going to stop there, right? That's what Ilaria had said, wasn't it? Something in the way she looked suddenly made me thought that this crucial piece of information might not have reached her ears. On my right, Stephen moved away from me. It was, at most, an inch, a barely perceptible shift, but I suddenly felt exposed and very alone under the Empress' icy stare and Queen Catherine's devious gaze.  
"There is nothing like meeting old friends," the Empress declared, turning slightly to include the assembled company, all of whom were now completely silent, straining to hear what she was saying. "Is there? Nothing better than meeting old friends – except, perhaps, making new ones!"

And she turned to the Empress.  
"Dearest Moya, according to a little bird of mine, your carrier here gave her blood to one of my Sheriffs, a certain Eric Northman. I'm sure you have heard of him, he has been in the news quite a lot in the past few years."  
"Is that so," the Empress said. It was not a question. Her voice was deathly still, but my knees were knocking.  
"Now," Catherine continued, "if one were to find out that this blood-giving was to further political aims – whatever they might be – I am sure one would feel quite perturbed. In some vampire circles, this would be considered … what would it be considered, Patrick?"  
The tall, pompous vampire pretended to think about it. "Well, if it were to interfere with the official line of leadership taken by her Majesty or her Imperial Majesty, I think some might construe it as treason."  
They all looked at me. Treason was one sin that vampire communities took very seriously. Vampire traitors received the true death, while human traitors met an unexpected demise in unfortunate circumstances. I felt my eyes prick with tears. The room was so quiet you could hear the faint ticking of the large clock over the door; I could hear my own heart banging away in my chest.

"It wasn't like that," I said quietly. "We just went to the bar to say hello to Pamela and I had a few drinks. Then I met Eric, Mr Northman, and I guess I was just a bit drunk and we got on really well, then we kissed and he …"  
My voice tailed off. "He bit me," I whispered.  
"Northman!" the Queen called.  
Eric walked across the room. His feet made no sound on the parquet. Without saying a word, he slipped in beside me, forcing Stephen to move and causing the rest of the receiving line to shuffle down. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards him as he took my fingers in his: I suddenly didn't feel like I was entirely alone.  
"Is this true, Mr Northman?" the Queen asked.  
"Yes," he said smoothly. "She came into the bar with the Moorish vampire and this one here – " he jerked a thumb in Stephen's direction. I could feel Stephen's hackles rise "– she had some alcohol and I could tell she was attracted to me. She made it obvious that she wanted my attention, she was throwing herself at me, as the humans say."  
My sense of gratitude evaporated into indignation. I dug my nails into his fingers, but he just squeezed mine gently in return and continued. "Things just got … eh… a little heated. I didn't plan on biting her but she was begging for it. We were very drawn to one another."  
I couldn't bring myself to look up. My face was a deep scarlet and I was so enraged, I had to stare at the tips of my navy shoes, reminding myself to breathe.  
"Dear me," said Queen Catherine. "That's hardly the way a nice young lady behaves."  
I nodded, "Yes, Ma'am."  
"And did you have his blood?" she asked. "Because, obviously, if a blood bond has occurred between one of her Imperial Majesty's retinue and my trusted Sheriff, we should've been informed."  
"Yes, Ma'am ... no, Ma'am," I said. "I mean, it wasn't really a blood bond but he he did give me his blood."  
"Goodness me, Miss Kennick, if he gave you his blood then a blood bond has occurred, do you not think?"  
 _It was only a drop_ , I wanted to shout. _Literally: a drop!_ Instead I mumbled, "Yes, Ma'am."  
"We wanted to keep it quiet till after the summit," Eric interjected. "It seemed unfair to distract focus from this momentous occasion with something as inconsequential as this."  
He gazed down at me with a fake soppy smile on his face, almost crushing my fingers with a squeeze. I forced myself to smile back at him. The tears that had gathered in my eyes trickled down my cheeks and I wiped them away with my fingers, continuing to grin at him in a manner so manic that Rob and Katie would've been proud. The Queen _awww_ -ed and the rest of the people in the room echoed the " _Awww_!"  
"How sweet!"  
"Isn't that darling?"  
Only the Empress was unmoved. She continued to stare at me, a level, fixed gaze. I couldn't meet her eyes.

"Well, Moya, you were worrying about what your humans would do while we vampires sorted out this summit of ours," the Queen sang out. "It would seem that Miss Kennick will be spending the next few weeks in Louisiana with her Shreveport sweetheart!"  
"I was actually going to fly back to Dublin tomorrow evening," I said quickly. I didn't like where this was going.  
"Nonsense," said the Empress, the word cutting and sharp. "Who are we to stand in the way of young love? If your attraction to Mr Northman was so strong that you felt yourself _compelled_ to give him your blood, then I think you should leave for Shreveport with him tomorrow. You will not be needed here until the 20th."  
She finished with a smile – or, rather, her lips turned upwards but her eyes continued to bore into me. We had majorly fucked up and while I didn't know what she would do to punish Ilaria and Stephen, she was handing me over to Eric Northman for a few weeks and I'd have to wriggle out of that predicament all by myself.  
"Wonderful!" said the Queen and she clapped her white-gloved hands in delight.  
"Fantastic," said the Empress, the word laden with poison.  
"Excellent," said Mr Northman and he bent his head to brush his cold lips against mine. The crowd gave a polite smattering of applause. I felt sick.

Catherine moved on to Stephen and the Empress stepped past me. She gave me one final glare, a tiny, disgusted shake of her head, and pretended to listen to what Catherine was saying. I stood stock-still, my hand still in Eric's, till the two women had made their way down the receiving line. Then the band struck up their music again and people started to move about, chattering excitedly about what they had just seen. I wriggled my fingers out of Eric's, pulled my shawl around my shoulders, and headed for the door.


	10. Chapter 10

X

"Where are you going, my dear Magdalena?" Eric asked softly. "You're surely not leaving, are you?"  
I was. I had been. I was going to go back to my room and cry in the shower or sob in bed with my head under the pillow. Eric smiled down at me but his eyes were concerned. "Because I'm sure we want to spend some time together, now that our bond is no longer a secret."  
I understood the subtext. Stalking off to cry in my room was as good as an admission of guilt and there were dozens of pairs of vampire ears listening to our exchange, waiting to hear what I would say. My task now was to continue the charade of happy little bloodling at Queen Catherine's ball, trailing behind Eric Northman, pretending to be delighted at the fact that I – what was the term Stephen had used? – that I, the wanton hussy, had flung myself at this vampire whilst pickled in alcohol and had given him my blood. Foisted it upon him, apparently.  
"I'm just going to the loo," I said. "The restroom," I added, remembering that Americans didn't know what the loo was.  
"Two minutes, my sweeting," he said with that same cold grin.

I allowed myself two precious minutes of silence, then returned to his side. He tucked my fingers into the bend of his elbow (had it really been less than an hour since I'd done the same with Stephen? It seemed like a century ago) and moved me around the room, introducing me to more and more people. I just smiled and accepted the congratulations on our fledgling relationship. Some even waxed lyrical about our symbiosis – surely a sign of things to come, if one of the Empress's human aides could find favour with the Queen's most powerful sheriff! What a wonderful union, so significant in these troubled times!

Eric accepted all of the compliments coolly, as though it were his due. I had more problems finding an appropriate reaction, so I stuck with my Rob-n-Katie smile. Most of the older vampires are not particularly good at discerning the subtleties of human reaction any more, so they all just thought that I was ecstatically happy. I grabbed a red drink from a passing waiter's tray and sighed with relief when I discovered it was a Bloody Mary, probably destined for someone else in the room. I drank it before the waiter could take it back and the smile came more easily. It came even more easily with the next drink I stole and by the time I was half-way through the third (some kind of sweet cocktail with cranberry juice), I was smiling like a loon. Eric had been holding the same glass of True Blood since we'd started our rounds, so he now discreetly swapped our glasses, giving me his to hold and confiscating mine. _What a meanie_ , I thought.  
"Sorry?" he asked, startled.  
Oops. I might've said that out loud.

All the time I looked for Stephen – no sign of him - and Ilaria. She saw me and wriggled her fingers in a tiny wave, but she made no effort to come over. Instead, she remained at the Empress's side and signalled me with her eyes to stay with Mr Northman. The other members of the Five Families tried to approach me but Eric steered me away out of their range. Sonja looked insulted, then furious.  
"Later," I said and though she couldn't hear me, she understood. She held Hans-Peter back and led him off towards the bar. Pietro was, as usual, more interested in talking to other people but Tomas Ardelean held my gaze steadily across the room. He was not stupid, the old one, he had seen his fair share of duplicitous vampires and he knew that something was going on. When I looked at him, he shook his head slowly. _Silly girl,_ his expression said. My face burned bright and it wasn't just the alcohol.

The Empress, on the other hand, did not look at me. Not once. It broke my heart. I felt as if I'd let my mother down or disappointed my father, that same leaden ball of guilt and shame pressed up against my ribcage. When the Empress left the ball, with many hugs and kisses of air in and around the Queen's face, I breathed a sigh of relief. Not having to look at her alleviated my crushing guilt just a tiny bit. I waited a little longer, and then told Eric I was going to bed. To my surprise, he agreed to let me go. But then he said he'd escort me to my room.

"Ugh," I said. "No, thanks."  
"You're drunk," he pointed out. "I really think I have to."  
So, graciously, I allowed him to escort my tipsy self to my bedchamber. Or something like that. I really was three sheets to the wind.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. We were stopped on our way up the stairs by Carl, one of the Empress's vampire guards. He'd been waiting for us because the Empress wanted to speak to me, he said. My stomach lurched and I wanted to flee, but Eric relinquished me to Carl, who led me away down the corridor before I could protest – or run. I was placed in front of the Empress's door and told to knock.  
I knocked.

The Empress was in her nightdress. This might've been awkward under other circumstances, but it was long and voluminous, white cotton with a lace collar. Without makeup and with her long hair loose, she looked like something from a Wagner opera. It wasn't awkward but it was intimidating.

" _Suí síos, a Maggie,_ " she said in Irish – sit down. Oh God, this was going to be bad. The room was bugged, but she knew the chances of the Queen having an Irish Gaelic speaker in her employ were relatively low. So Moya let me have it. I didn't understand everything because I hadn't spoken Irish since I left school and, well, I was quite drunk, but I understood the effect of the low hiss of her words. Essentially, she was disappointed in me. Ashamed of me. I had let her down. My blood would no longer be needed because the King of the Islands would not want me if I had besmirched myself with a lowly sheriff. She did not want to see me till the summit and when I was there, I was to keep out of her way.

" _Tuigim_ ," I said sadly. I understand. I was crying again, big ugly tears. " _Tá brón orm, a Mhoya, tá brón orm._ " I'm sorry, I'm sorry. What else could I say? Anything else would implicate Ilaria and Stephen and, by the looks of things, I was getting off lightly. My heart was still beating, that was a good start.  
" _Tá sé déanta anois,_ " she said, standing up. It's done now. She turned her back on me and stared out the big windows that overlooked the dark courtyard. This was my sign to leave.

I slipped out, pulling the door closed. Eric was waiting for me at a respectable distance down the corridor, beyond the cordon of the guards. He waited till I was by his side and then said, "Now it's my turn; apparently I have been summoned by the Queen."  
"Thank you, Eric," I said. "I really appreciate this."  
He shrugged. "It's my own fault," he said. "I should've known better than to get involved ... so now I have to make the best of a bad lot."  
He dipped his head and we kissed for the benefit of the Empress's guards and then parted ways.  
"By the way," he called after me, "We'll be leaving here tomorrow as soon as the sun goes down. I'd like to be back in Fangtasia before closing."  
For a moment I didn't understand what he was talking about.  
"Back to Shreveport," he said and glared at me, tipping his head the tiniest fraction in the direction of the listening guards.  
"Oh, right," I said. "Back to Shreveport. Right. I'll be packed and ready. My love," I added, just in case.  
He grinned at me. " _God natt,_ " he said in Swedish and walked away.

I didn't think I'd ever fall asleep. I spent the dawn hours fretting: fretting about the Empress, about Ilaria and Stephen's fates, about having to spend three weeks in a town I didn't know with vampires I didn't know. Fretting about needing to sleep but not being able to. Time was passing and I was still awake. Why couldn't I sleep?

Then I woke mid-afternoon to the sound of banging on my door. At some point sleep had obviously sneaked up on me and snagged me into its depths. Sonja was outside and she looked a bit worse for the wear, her eyes bloodshot and tired, her hair a bird's nest of tangled curls. She'd obviously just gotten out of bed because she was still wearing her pyjamas bottoms, a thick fleece pullover criss-crossed over her chest. Of course, who was I to pass judgement? I thought when I caught sight of myself in the dressing table mirror. Before I'd gone to bed, I hadn't bothered to remove the pins that held my hair up, so mine had matted into some kind of thick thatch at the back. Ilaria's artful curls had long since drooped, forming a curtain of limp hair on either side of my wan and freckly face.

Sonja sat down on my bed and I told her all – well, I told her all of the official version. The fewer people knew that Ilaria had tried to get Eric Northman to meddle with our Empress and his Queen's affairs, the better. Instead I told her a version of the story Eric had regaled the previous night: one that put me in a better light, of course, and cast him as the desperate and clingy party.  
"And now you're going to spend the next few weeks with him in – where was it again? Shreveport?"  
"Yes," I said. It was hard to admit it without wincing. Sonja looked sceptical. I knew she didn't believe me but she'd worked around vampires long enough to know that it's sometimes better to know too little than too much. She hugged me and wished me the best of luck. I told her to say goodbye to the others from me – I just couldn't face lying to all of them as well, I didn't think I'd be able to spin my story in front of Tomas Ardelean without breaking down and confessing the truth. She left, making me promise to tell me all about my Louisianan adventures when we met at the summit, and then I set about packing quickly and efficiently, folding everything neatly so it would all fit into my big case.

Just before dusk there was another knock on the door. I looked through the peephole and saw Ilaria. She didn't look good: even through the peephole I could see a small trickle of blood from her ear. I let her in, pulling down the blinds and switching on the light.  
"I am so terribly, terribly sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to put you into this position and I am eternally grateful to you for not saying anything."  
"Where's Stephen?"  
"I don't know. He's pretty much kept himself to himself since the receiving line fiasco."  
"Do you think the Empress knows why we really stopped in Shreveport?"  
"She might suspect what I'd been trying to do but she has no proof and I think she'd rather not know, to be honest. The Queen, though – well, that's another matter. Behind her fluffy haircut and Chanel suits, she's not a dummy. God knows who she has working for her up in Shreveport. Just be careful, trust no one, not even Sheriff Northman."  
I nodded.  
"And just remember, Magdalena, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Do you understand? You can offer him your blood in exchange for his ... _hospitality_ –" ( _protection_ , come on Ilaria, we both knew what was meant) "- but you are not obliged to give him anything else, nor should you feel pressured into taking his blood. Do you understand?"  
I nodded again and she pressed me to her, her bloody cheek up against mine.  
"Be careful, my child," she said, "And remember it's just three weeks. You'll be back here with us in no time and we can tell our majesties that it just didn't work out. The relationship ran its course."  
"Familiarity bred contempt," I suggested.  
She smiled wryly and slipped out the door, down the corridor on soundless bare feet, before any of her fellow vamps woke up to greet the twilight.

I waited for Eric in the lobby. There were two other receptionists on duty, two men this time. They were vampires and they did not smile, they just surveyed the foyer with expressionless faces, their backs as straight as soldiers'. When Eric came out of the elevator, I stood up to go over to him but I was overtaken by a portly man, who ran up to him at a speed that belied his bulk. He thrust a key into Eric's hands and nodded, clasping his hands together obsequiously. Eric did not break his stride, causing the round little man to scuttle along beside him.  
"Maggie," he said to me in greeting.  
"Eric," I answered in the same vein.  
"Thank you very much, Mr Caulton," Eric said to the man. "Your excellent service will be noted."  
"My pleasure, Sheriff Northman. Any time," the man assured him.  
"Come," he said and took my suitcase with his own. Parked on the curb outside the hotel was a sleek black Audi. Eric pressed the keycard and the doors chirped. He stowed our cases in the back of the car and opened the passenger door for me. I slid inside. The car smelled brand new and the surfaces were pristine. My suspicion was confirmed when Eric got in beside me and spent several minutes adjusting the seat and mirrors.  
"Is this your car?" I asked.  
"It is now," he said.  
"Did you just buy it?"  
"Yup," he said. "You like?"  
"Yes, I like," I answered, "but what happened to your other car? Or didn't you have another car?"  
"I did but I traded it in an hour ago. Mr Caulton was happy to take it and give me a good deal on this model here."  
"Why did you need to buy a new car?" I really wanted to know.  
"Because the other one was bugged," he said. "Of course."  
Of course. The Queen of Louisiana probably had shares in a security equipment factory.

We set off. Eric drove confidently but fast. I wasn't entirely sure what the speed limit on Louisiana roads was, but he drove as though he were on a German autobahn and his German car purred under the challenge. While he drove, he asked me about where I was from and how I'd ended up in Moya's retinue. I gave him the bare bones of my backstory and asked him about his. He didn't say much about himself – but then, vampires rarely do. It's one of the reasons why we humans keep a database on them. They tend to like to forget the more salient details of their long existence. Instead, he told me how the United States had managed to rid itself of the Vampire Authority and their problems with the Hep V virus. I know he was skipping a lot of things I probably would've liked to know: he kept pausing and I could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out a way to tell me a lot without telling me much, if you know what I mean.

We lapsed into silence and my head lolled against the car window. Lulled by the sound of the car's smooth engine and the soft music on the radio, I drifted in and out of sleep. Eric drove without a stop, two hours, three hours ... and when I woke and stretched, I discovered that we were close to our destination. I yawned and tried to pluck up my courage: I felt we couldn't skirt the inevitable any longer.

"What's going to happen when we get to Shreveport?" I asked. "I mean, I know we're going to Fangtasia, but I mean after that. Where am I going to stay? What ...?" I couldn't finish the question because I didn't know what it was: what do you want from me? What do I have to do for you? What do we want to do with or to each other?  
He looked over at me, his big hands clutched and unclutched the steering wheel. Given the speed we were going at, I suddenly felt a bit scared.  
"I think you should stay with Pam," he said. "I am not accustomed to having humans in my home. Pamela will provide you with her guest room and I will stay there on the nights when I take your blood or we have sex."  
My mouth opened and shut. The _cheek_.  
"I will stay with Pamela, thank you very much. I will give you some blood, that's fine. But I'm not having sex with you - how often do I have to say it?"  
He raised his eyebrows. I was about to argue my point home when his finger tipped the indicator and we pulled off the interstate and started to drive through the city suburbs. I decided to leave it – no point in having a fight about something that had not happened and, if I had my way, simply would not.

Eric pushed the door of the Fangtasia back office open.  
Pam put down her phone when she saw him, her face lit up in almost childish delight.  
"Eric! You're here! So, did you bring me back a goody bag?"  
I stepped out of her maker's shadow.  
"Oh, _goody_ ," she said sarcastically. "A _human_. Can't have too many of them."  
Then she recognised me. "Where's Ilaria?" she asked in surprise.  
Eric sat behind the desk, swishing her off it with her hand. She stood between us, like a spectator at a tennis match. Saturday was obviously an important night for Fangtasia: not only was the place packed, but Pam was decked out in her full Vampire Barbie gear. This time she was wearing skin-tight leather pants and a bright pink t-shirt that had been ripped to shreds in all the right places. Her lipstick matched and her hair was loose but curled into an 80s-style halo around her head.  
"What happened?" she asked.  
Sorting through the papers on his desk, Eric filled her in. After a few sentences in English, they switched to Swedish so they could fight in peace. Now it was my turn to look from one to the other.  
As my Swedish was limited to "Skoll!", I could only surmise that Pam was not happy with the general situation but, hey, who was? She lectured her maker for a couple of minutes and then ended with "... _(unintelligible Swedish)_ sucky, _(more Swedish)_ sucky _(Swedish, Swedish)_ sucky."  
Eric emphatically denied it was sucky but in a vicious, biting tone.  
Pam was quiet, but I could tell she had lots more to say.  
"Look," I said placatingly, "I know it sucks. It's sucky for everyone but let's make the best of it. We have no choice."  
They looked at me, wide-eyed, then they both started to laugh.  
"It _is_ sucky," Eric agreed.  
Pamela looked at me pityingly. "Not 'sucky'," she said. " _Sookie_. As in, the name Sookie. She was the last little breather that wrapped Eric around her finger and when she was finished wrecking havoc on our lives – _on our business –_ " she added, giving Eric the stink eye, "she nearly brought about our ruin. This reminds me too much of the whole Sookie circus."  
I didn't know what to say to that, I just wondered what had become of this poor Sookie person. I wondered if she was still alive, or perhaps even living a dead existence with the vampires?

"Enough," Eric announced. "Pamela, Maggie will require the use of your spare room until she returns to New Orleans for the summit."  
"Nope," Pam said promptly. "Raë is renovating my apartment. I'm knocking through my bedroom into the spare room to make myself a suite. I'm spending the next two weeks in a coffin downstairs."  
Eric's mouth twitched. He turned to the door.  
"And don't bother asking Ginger," Pam said. "Her brother's visiting from Yellow Pine with his wife and two kiddiewinks, so that'll be a no. Hotel room or your place, take your pick."  
"Hotel room," I said immediately.  
He weighed it up and sighed. "A hotel room would be unwise. You can stay with me. If the Queen's little birds are watching us, it's only what they would expect I suppose."  
I pulled a face of displeasure but there wasn't much to be done. Equally unenthusiastic about our new status as roomies, Eric gathered up his keys and a sheaf of papers from his desk. I stood up and said goodnight to Pam with as much good grace as I could muster.

Her eyes were practically shining with delight. Her _schadenfreude_ was palpable.  
"Good night, dear lovers," she sang as we exited the office. "Now this, for sure, is really sucky!"  
We could hear her still cackling with glee, even as Eric closed the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Eric Northman's house was surprising. Surprisingly normal, surprisingly suburban and unsurprisingly cold. I'd forgotten that vampires don't need central heating, so I shivered when I stepped through his front door. It probably wasn't warmer inside than it had been in his driveway.

He nodded. "I'll turn on the heating," he said. "I just hope it works."  
He walked off, leaving me standing in the hall, so I looked around. It was very modern: the floorboards were stained black, the walls white. There were a lot of black and white photos of landscapes. Some of them looked Scandinavian, so I guessed they were places that the Northman knew.

As he still hadn't returned, I moved over to look into his living room. The house was spacious but not enormous – we'd passed plenty of huge, colonial-style houses on the way here, but Eric's was a bit bigger than my old house in Ireland, not a lot more. His was, however, far posher than mine, not least because it was set in the landscaped gardens of a gated community. His furnishings and fittings spoke of quality and taste. Many of the pieces of furniture that looked old probably were, remnants from his previous lives in other countries. I picked up a sheathed dagger on a side table, thinking it was a letter-opener. Withdrawing it, I saw the blade was razor sharp and the hilt well-worn. I turned it over in my hands and looked at its marking and then hastily put it back; it might've been as old as the vampire himself.

Eric returned and found me sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch, still shivering.  
"I'll make a fire," he said, "and while it's getting started, I'll show you the rest of the house."  
He set a fire in the large fireplace – thank God it wasn't just decorative – and led me into his pristine kitchen.  
"I'm afraid I have no food," he said. "And nothing to drink except TrueBlood."  
He opened the large fridge and showed me his neatly stacked stock of bottles.  
"Do you have water?" I asked, worried, but he leaned over and turned on the tap. It spluttered for a couple of seconds, then the water began to flow freely. I gulped down a glass, suddenly thirsty and very hungry.  
"I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon," I said by way of explanation after I'd chugged the second glass. "I'm starving."  
"That is unfortunate," he said in an even tone.

He showed me the second reception room, which he used as some kind of office – at least, there was a huge, ornate wooden desk in its centre and shelves that held folders and files. We went up the stairs and he showed me his two spare bedrooms and told me to take my pick. Not particularly caring, I took the first because it had an en-suite bathroom.  
"And this is my room," he announced and flung open the door. I peeked in. One wall was lined with closets, fronted with a kind of opaque black glass. The curtains were drawn but I knew they were drawn over a window with a light-tight blind. The bed was covered in a black throw that had some kind of thin silver thread running through it in a pinstripe pattern. Beside his bed, on the two black bedside tables, there was a stack of books and a little lamp. The room, like the rest of the house, was immaculate: even the books were stacked according to size, biggest on the bottom, smallest on the top. The room looked unlived in, sterile. Not my idea of a cosy resting place.

Eric raised an eyebrow at me enquiringly but I backed out of the room quickly, just in case he mistook my interest in his interior decoration for interest in something else. We went downstairs and, to my relief, the living room was actually getting warm. The fire was still small but blazing bravely. I sat down on the couch again and he sat down beside me, leaning back against the cushions and stretching his long arms out so one of them rested behind my shoulder-blades. I felt a momentary desire to lean back and rest my head on his arm but I was quiet and it passed.  
"I, too, am hungry," he said and his fangs clicked out. His fingers gently stroked my shoulder.  
I steeled myself. "I haven't eaten in about twelve hours," I said. "All I've had was those two glasses of water. I'd really appreciate it if we could wait until tomorrow. Maybe you could just have a True Blood for now?"  
There was a tiny note of pleading to my voice but I couldn't hush it. I was just too tired and too weary to have a great big Viking chomping away at me. Eric looked at me and abruptly, his fingers were still.  
"Very well," he said, all business-like. "I will arrange for someone to take you shopping tomorrow so you can buy food. And anything else that you need – I'm sure there are plenty of articles that you will require for your human maintenance that I do not have in my home. Tomorrow evening, though, I will have your blood."  
"Fine." That was fair. If I had to pay rent in haemoglobin, that was okay by me. I said goodnight – no need for fake kisses now – and he carried my suitcase upstairs to the room I'd chosen. Eric Northman, for all his faults, was a gentleman. I brushed my teeth, perched on the loo for a wee – was my bottom the first to every use these facilities? Very probably, by the looks of things - and then discovered that vampires never remember toilet paper: I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity, every human visiting a vampire home should have a wad of tissues stashed on their person. I rooted around in my pockets and found a crumpled one that would do. Before falling asleep, I made a shopping list and put 'toilet paper' at the top.  
And underlined it twice.

I was up early the next day and I used the time to snoop around Eric's home. I didn't go through his personal things, of course, but I looked at his pictures, I examined the books on his shelves. I opened every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen and discovered it stocked with what was probably some kind of Ikea starter set: six bowls, six plates, six cups, six saucers, a set of cutlery. Only the glasses and the microwave showed any sign of use. As I feared, there was nothing to eat in the kitchen. Not a bean. Literally, not a bean, not a crumb, not some forgotten Twinkie, left behind by a realtor years ago when Eric had bought the house. My stomach was starting to seriously rumble when the doorbell rang. I started, then went to answer it, hoping this was the person who was going to take me somewhere to get food.

It was. I opened the door to a muscular young man in his early twenties. He was wearing a heavy winter jacket and was chewing gum. He greeted me with a polite, "Ma'am."  
I was never sure how to reply to the Southern "ma'aming", so I just stepped aside to let him come in, looking at him up and down as he passed. He had the kind of tan anyone would envy in deep winter and tawny greeny-brown slanted eyes above broad cheekbones. His hair was cut short but I could see that if it was allowed to grow, it would fall very black and straight. I found myself wondering if he had Native American blood. I didn't want to stare but it was hard not to: he was very attractive. And breathing, and warm-blooded. These were all huge positives in my book. Of course, he was also about a decade younger than me, but maybe he liked older women?

All the while I was taking him in, he was staring at me with equally unashamed curiosity. Suddenly, he thrust his hand out and said, "I'm TJ."  
"Maggie," I said. He smiled – in fact, he looked like a man who smiled a lot.  
"Mr N said you needed to pick up a few things?" he asked and I nodded in confirmation. He reached past me and I caught his scent briefly. Still grinning, he picked up the car keys out of a bowl on the side table.  
"Mr Northman said I could take his car," he said happily. "Man, what a sweet ride."  
"Please don't scratch it or damage it in any way. Or he'll kill you."  
It was not an idle threat, I was certain the vampire would be sorely tempted if this TJ messed up the sweet ride.  
"'Course not," he said, still grinning.

He did, in fact, drive carefully. He spent the first five minutes making near-orgasmic noises about the car, pressing buttons to open windows and adjust settings. It made me laugh, the moaning of delight at the automatic seat-warmers and intelligent sat nav system. TJ laughed with me - this guy really was a ray of sunshine after a month in the company of earnest and dour vampires.  
"So I hear you're a carrier," he said conversationally as we drove off. "Don't get many of them around here. Is it true that you can smell the vamps?"  
"Yes, it's true," I said. I tried to explain it. "It's not just a smell, though, it can be a sensation or an idea of warmth. You know the smell in the air at the start of September, when the first rains come after the summer? That kind of thing. It's a smell, but it's more. Like a feeling."  
"And can you smell us?" he asked. "Can you smell me?"  
I hesitated. "I think I can identify humans better than most by their smell, but not all of them. I can get your scent though. It's very ... " I tried to be tactful. "It's _unusual_."  
"I'm aware," he grinned. "Sorry about that."  
I didn't want to dwell on matters of personal hygiene. It seemed rude.  
"So what do you want to do first?"  
I looked at my watch. "Is there anywhere I can get breakfast? Or lunch?"  
It was close to midday.  
"Sure," he said easily and looking briefly into each of the mirrors and then over his shoulder, he did a U-turn, ending up on the other side of the road, going in the direction we came from.  
I shrieked and this made him laugh again.  
"Hey, not a scratch!" he said.

He took me to a diner and I ordered the all-day breakfast. TJ looked studiously out the window but I knew he would eat, too, so I encouraged him to join me. He ordered the same and when it came, we happily tucked in. I ate bacon and eggs and fried tomatoes, and had a lot of toast. A _lot_ of it. I used it to wipe the grease off the plate, then sat back to watch TJ finishing his. He had ordered a side of fries as well, which he polished off at record speed, then leaned back against his seat, a hand resting on his full stomach. We raised our mugs of coffee in a mock-salute to each other and settled into the busy work of digesting.  
"So how do you know Eric?" I asked. "Do you work for him?"  
TJ's face darkened a fraction. "My family owes him," he said. "So I gotta run his errands whenever he calls. Not that I'm complaining about this one," he added.  
"What did he do for your family?"  
I was curious. TJ shrugged. "He's given protection to a lot of families in the were community, especially after they chose a packmaster that a lot of us weren't too keen on."  
Something clicked in my brain. "In the _were_ community?" I repeated.  
"Yeah," he said. "Like I told you: I'm a were."  
How embarrassing. I thought he'd just said that he was aware that he smelled funny. And he did. Now I understood why he didn't smell quite human but also not vampire: he had a faint but distinctly heavy, musky smell. I'd never smelled anything like it before.  
"Don't you have weres in Ireland?" he asked.  
"No," I said. "We haven't had wild wolves in at least a century and a half, so the weres died out or moved away. As far as I know, there are some living in Eastern Europe and Russia, places where wolves still roam. But not in the British Isles."  
His grin got wider. "So I'm your first were?" he asked proudly. "That's so cool."  
He had no idea. I peppered him with questions and he answered them all patiently. When we'd both reached a stage where we could once more move, we slid off the diner benches and I paid the check.  
"Can you turn, just a bit, so I can see?" I begged. "Like, a hairy paw or a tail or something?"  
TJ laughed out loud, his tawny eyes disappeared into slits of mirth. "It doesn't work like that," he said. "But if you're still here come full moon, I'll come howl outside your window. Deal?"  
"Deal," I said.

I spent the afternoon shopping and TJ trailed after me. He was not only good-humoured, but infinitely patient. Everywhere he went, young women beamed at him and then tried to figure out what he was doing with _me_. He was nice to everyone, charming to the older ladies at the cash desk and respectfully polite to the salesman who helped me pick out a toaster and a kettle. He trudged behind me at the supermarket, indulging me when I picked up practically every item on the shelf. I had been in the country for six weeks, but had never gone food shopping – we'd been fed at restaurants or by caterers, an inconvenient afterthought for our vampire hosts. All of the foodstuffs were so foreign, so exotic. But other stuff _was the exact same as at home!_ TJ pretended to be as surprised by the fact that you can get Kerrygold butter in America as I was, but I think he was just playing along.

I bought food – just fruit, milk, bread, butter, ham and cheese – and some perishables. I had a couple of packets of pasta and a jar of pesto in my hand when I remembered that pesto was pretty garlic-laden. So I took a jar of tomato sauce instead. I also stocked up on cookies and chocolate. In fact, I went a bit crazy in the sweeties section but, to be fair, TJ aided and abetted me.  
"Try this," he said. "And this. And this. And these are soft-bake cookies, have you ever tried them? What do you mean, you don't have them in Ireland? You gotta try them!"

We tested some of my purchases in the car park – just for science, you understand – and I discovered I do not like American chocolate (TJ took it off my hands) but I love American cookies. I scoffed a couple with macadamia and white chocolate, then had a maple pecan chocolate chip cookie and finished it off with a chocolate mint crisp. Then I panicked slightly because Eric Northman's new car was full of crumbs. We looked at each other like two remorseful children, but TJ had the bright idea of driving to a petrol station and borrowing their car vacuum cleaner, so a crisis was narrowly averted.

By the time we got back to Eric's house, TJ felt like an old pal. Our friendship had been strengthened by food (breakfast), drink (coffee), adventure (the candy aisle in the supermarket) and danger (crumbs in Eric's car.) He carried the bags into the kitchen for me, but when I offered him a cup of tea, he looked at the clock on the wall and excused himself, suddenly serious. It only took me a couple of seconds to realise that dusk was falling and Eric would be up soon. We exchanged phone numbers and he gave me a hug.  
"Call me if you need anything," he said. "We should totally go to that pancake place I was telling you about. You'd love it."  
 _Why was he so young?_ I moaned inwardly as I shut the front door. He waved as he drove away in his battered little car and I replaced Eric's keys in the bowl. He was gorgeous, he was polite, he loved his food. He was, in sum, the perfect man. But young enough to be my little brother.

The house seemed so quiet when TJ was gone, so I nipped upstairs and got my laptop. I set it up on the kitchen table and logged on to my Netflix account and started to watch 'The Hunger Games' while I made myself a sandwich and ate some apple slices. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice Eric come in till he was standing in front of me.  
"God almighty!" I shrieked.  
He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a tight grey t-shirt. It stretched across his chest so I could see the rise and fall of his muscles. I looked away. TJ was not much taller than I and he looked like a guy that worked out, but Eric Northman was tall and rangy and his body looked like one that had grown rock-hard by sheer dint of physical work. I felt a bit flustered.  
"God almighty? Not quite," he said drily. "Why are you watching your movie in here? Is my living room not comfortable enough?"  
His living room was comfortable in a show-room kind of way, but I didn't want to say that. The kitchen was the only room in the house that bore no trace of the house's owner and I felt most comfortable there. Reluctantly, I paused the film and closed my laptop, following him back into the living room. I knew what was coming next and the prospect didn't fill me with delight.

"So you have been fed?" he asked politely. "And it was sufficient? Mr Knight was helpful, I take it?"  
Mr Knight was TJ, I presumed, so I agreed that he had been very helpful and that I was stuffed full to the gills. Eric was very pleased, especially when I confessed that I'd eaten an obscene amount of cookies.  
"I've always wondered why humans love them so much," he said. "Now I might know."  
He sank down on the couch, turning sideways so he could stretch a leg along its length and leave the other on the floor, creating a V of space in between.  
"Come here, Maggie," he said.  
 _Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,_ I thought. _Come here, pussycat!_  
I placed myself between his legs, clenching my butt cheeks so tight, I barely made contact with the couch. I'd braided and tied my long hair up that morning, but I swept aside some hairs that had come loose.  
"You're so tense," he said. "Do you know what would help you relax?"  
I sighed. "Shut up and get it over with," I said. Then I heard the familiar click of fangs and he sank his teeth in. Like the last time, it hurt like fury when he broke skin but after a couple of minutes it was tolerable. After a couple of more minutes it was very pleasant – for him. He pulled me in closer and one of his large hands drifted gently down from my shoulder and over my breast. It was a movement so soft, it brushed my nipple like a feather and it – traitor – responded by hardening. He moaned into my neck and the hand returned.

I found myself gulping for air, as one hand continued to cup my breast and the other stroked my arm tenderly.  
"Stop it," I gasped. "Enough."  
He ignored me. I tugged at his hair, but it made no difference. I started to sharply flick his forehead, his cheek, the side of his head – anything I could reach – with my fingers and after a few seconds he pulled away, confused. I used the opportunity and jumped up.  
"That's enough," I said. I was trying to sound stern, authorative, but my voice was shaky. He just smiled at me from the couch, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was, well, in the mood.  
"You can feed from me," I said, "but you cannot ... maul me like that."  
"Why not? You like it."  
"If I say no, it means no. No touching, no sex. Why can't you understand that?"  
"I can't understand it," he said. "We are going to have sex at some point. I'm just trying to show you that sooner would be better than later."  
To be fair to him, he looked genuinely perplexed. Sex for vampires is no biggie, so many of them simply lack a basic understanding of why a person might not want to hop into the sack with a total stranger. Ilaria explained it to me once: many vampires have forgotten the concept of intimacy. Having an intimate relationship is something they do not do and they don't understand why some humans would want one. It's a very basic, very different way of perceiving the world and I – call me old-fashioned or prudish – had never been the type to hook up with someone I didn't know or trust, and I didn't want to start now.

Okay, following those few minutes on the couch, I actually did. But I was trying my best to be good.  
"Are you aware that what you are doing constitutes sexual harassment?" I snapped, perhaps a bit more sharply than needed be. "And in case that's a foreign concept to you, it's a little something we little womenfolk came up with in the last century to describe how we feel when creepy guys like you keep bothering us for sexual favours. Get a grip, Eric."  
"I am not sexually harassing you," he said, sounding puzzled. "I am stating a fact. We will sleep together. Eventually."  
He stood up, pretending to stretch his arms over his head, so I could have a good view of ... you know, all of him.  
"What if I don't want to?" I asked.  
"Eventually, though, you will."  
"I don't think so."  
"You might need more of my blood, but then you will think so."  
"I'd need a _transfusion_ of your blood, Eric," I said. "A couple of _litres_ of the stuff."  
"Okay," he said easily.  
I began to feel really irritated. "Listen," I said, "you can't force me to have sex with you."  
"Actually, I'm not forcing you but we both know I could. And if I did," he said, in the same unperturbed tone, "who would you complain to? My Queen? Your Empress? The police?"  
He leaned against the doorway with a politely curious look on his face. It took me a second or two to process what he was saying. He was right – who could I go to? Who would help me? No one, that's who.

"However," he added, "I do not intend to force you. I am, as I said, just stating a fact. Given our circumstances, we will eventually sleep together. If I wanted to force you, I would've done it long before now. Get a grip, Magdalena." The words sounded odd coming out of his mouth.

I got a grip. I got up and walked out of the room and started up the stairs. Halfway up, my temper snapped and I stopped. This was _precisely_ why I had chosen not to make a living in vampire employ, because being around them was a gigantic pain in the neck. They have no sense of propriety, so sense of personal space. For all of their so-called mainstreaming, they could never manage to see humans as equals. For many of them, we still constituted nothing more than some kind of pet: requiring slightly more effort than a cat and far less walking than a dog.

Marching back down the stairs, my rage growing with each step, I stomped back into his living room. Eric was still leaning, motionless, against the doorway, his face downwards in vampire stand-by mode.  
"FINE!" I shouted. "Let's have sex!"  
His eyes flickered back to life. "What?" he asked.  
"Sex," I said. I leaned over and smacked his bum. "Come on, you wanted it. Let's get the damn thing over with. Let's bang uglies. Get yours out, Northman."  
I used the toe of one shoe to wriggle out of the other, pulling off my socks. I followed it with my pullover and my t-shirt. I stood facing him, barefoot, in my bra.  
"COME ON!" I shouted. "Mush, mush! I haven't got all flipping day! I'm in the middle of watching the Hunger Games on Netflix, I don't have time to waste."  
His eyes opened wide and he started to shed clothes.  
I stood by and made something that approximated appreciative noises: "Nice backside. You're a bit skinny but I can work with that. Man, your feet are weird-looking."  
My voice sounded slightly manic and I started to laugh at the preposterousness of the situation.  
Eric paused, his fingers hooked in the band of his underpants. He was staring at me, not sure why I was laughing. Or what I was laughing at.  
"Well?" I said. "Get on with it, vampire. Stop stalling." Pointedly, I looked at my watch and tapped the glass. He stripped down. He seemed - well, less excited by the prospect now that I was offering it to him on a plate. He moved towards me and I felt his nearness as a chill, his cold hand reached up to cup my cheek and he leaned in to kiss me.  
I ducked out of his grip. "Oh, please," I said scornfully. "We're going to shag. Spare me the rest of it."

Eric stopped and jutted out his lower jaw.  
"What are you doing?" he said.  
I pretended I didn't understand, tilting my head to one side. I considered the question.  
"We're having sex," I said in the kind of voice you might use with the hard of hearing. "As it's apparently inevitable, I'm resigning myself to my fate and we're going to bonk each other's brains out. Then I'm going to finish a bag of chocolate mint cookies and watch Jennifer Lawrence overthrow a dystopian dictatorship. Frankly, I know which part _I'm_ looking forward to."  
Eric stared at me through narrowed eyes, then he turned and bent to pick up the t-shirt he'd flung on the floor.  
"Nice view," I said.  
He spun around, clutching his clothes to his chest.  
"Okay." The word was short, defensive. "Forget about it. No sex."  
"Ah, come on," I wheedled. "Just a little shag. A teeny-tiny banging of boots. I'll throw you down on the couch and bounce around on your bits for a while. You'll barely notice I'm there."  
He scooped up his pants and shoes.  
"I get it," he said. "I understand. Point taken."  
He left the room as haughtily as a naked man can with a bundle of clothes under his arm.

I laughed till I had a pain in my side, then I went up to my room. I heard the front door slam and the sound of his car start up. I peered out the window just as his head turned to look up. I blew him a kiss; he revved the engine and drove off.  
That only made me laugh some more.  
 _Round one to me_ , I thought. I grabbed the bag of cookies and went downstairs to finish the film.


	12. Chapter 12

XII

Pamela de Beaufort didn't like serving anyone. She'd done enough of it in her human life; her vampire life was worth more than that. When it was up to her, she positioned herself between the door of Fangtasia and the velvet rope that cordoned off its inner entrance, deciding who she would allow in and who she would kick out into the cold. This evening, however, she had little choice but to plant herself behind the bar between Ginger and the new bartender, Evie, to prevent the outbreak of World War III.

Hiring Evie had been a good move, at least, that was what Pamela'd thought: she was a vampire, albeit a very young one, barely turned three years, and a trained barkeeper. She worked quickly and efficiently behind the counter, wiping surfaces, washing glasses, swiftly sweeping up her tips into the pocket of her tight jeans. But she hated Ginger. While Evie was quick and sharp, Ginger was slow and lazy. Ginger's side of the bar was sticky with uncleaned stains, she liked to lean on the counter, talking to the male customers and swatting them playfully with a napkin. The female patrons got served more slowly or not at all, because Ginger tended to ignore them, and when she was put under pressure on a busy night, she got flustered and forgot to give change or mixed up drinks.

Pamela knew that she should demote her back to bussing the dirty glasses, but Ginger had been at Fangtasia long enough to have earned regular shifts behind the bar. And Pam – to her severe annoyance – found she had a sense of … what was it again? …oh, yes: _loyalty_ to the little blond woman. If one of them had to leave it would have to be – Pamela sighed. _What has happened to me?,_ she wondered – the nice, new, _efficient_ barkeeper that knew how to do basic math in her head and seldom gave a customer too little change in return.

In an attempt to mitigate the circumstances, Pam was taking a shift behind the bar till the third bartender, Devon, came to work at ten. The two women hissed at each other when they met at the True Blood fridge, and Evie made pointed remarks about how she'd served three times as many customers as Ginger since they started their shift (probably true, Pamela hated to admit), but for the most part, the de Beaufort Wall was working out okay.

Shortly before ten, Eric came in. If he was surprised to see her behind the bar, he gave no sign of it. He just nodded his head in acknowledgement and ascended the stage in a few long strides. He seemed restless to Pam: she watched him shift in his chair, stretching and moving his legs. So Pamela observed him carefully, turning glasses in the cloth in her hands. She wondered what was happening with his little Irishwoman, Ilaria's godchild. Pam had spent the evening waiting for Ilaria to return her call, but there had been no reply, so Pam had to try to decipher and interpret what Eric's fidgeting meant herself. The Kennick wasn't unattractive: she had that Celtic colouring, pale skin, large grey eyes and hair that was somewhere between auburn and carrot. Of course, Eric was deeply distrustful of red hair – something about red-haired women being burnt at the stake in his day – but Pamela thought the girl was perfectly acceptable: slim and curvy. What more did he want?

More, obviously. As Pamela watched, he leaned down to signal the brunette who'd been gyrating in front of the stage since he'd taken his seat. The woman scrambled up on stage, her skin-tight mini-dress rucking up to expose her thong as she hurried up the steps.  
"Whore," Ginger muttered. "Who wears a dress like that? Trashy trailer trash, that's who."  
Pam shifted her view sideways to Ginger, who was wearing denim cut-offs so short that her boss could see the cheeks of her behind when she bent to pick up a glass.  
They both watched as Eric left the stage, his arm outstretched behind him. The dark-haired woman was clutching his hand excitedly, waving at her girlfriends as he led her away through the door that led to his office.  
"I'm tellin' ya," Ginger said. "She's a whore."

Pamela served two True Bloods with a little more violence than was necessary, suddenly annoyed. She looked around the bar for Devon and started when she realized he was at her elbow. Not many people could sneak up on a vampire, but Devon was a person of such intrinsic quiet that his every move seemed like stealth. He was a tall, heavyset black man with thick glasses and, by sheer virtue of his bulk, he prevented Ginger and Evie from interacting: they had to stand on their tippy-toes to see over Devon's shoulders.  
"Take over," Pam ordered, "And keep these two bitches from each other's throats."

She slipped out from behind the bar and made her way to the office. She paused at the door, one hand on the doorknob. She didn't have to put her ear to the door to hear what was happening. The dark-haired woman was clearly very excitable and was commentating the sex act like the soundtrack to a bad porn film: "Yes, oh yes! Come here, big boy! Come to your babydoll!"  
Pam smirked. Eric was probably hating it – gushing loquacity was never his thing, never less than when he was trying to take a woman. Serves him right, Pam thought. She'd been inclined to burst in on them and interrupt their tryst but now she saw more punishment in letting him endure the brunette's enthusiastic cheerleading instead.

The office phone began to ring. Pam waited to hear if Eric would answer it: while most of the calls were from tourists looking for directions to Fangtasia ("Download Google fucking Maps!"), there were plenty of calls that had to do with Eric's role of Sheriff of Area Five and, particularly with the vampire summit taking place in New Orleans, Pam thought he might be more inclined to take the call – but apparently he wasn't. The woman shrieked her climax: "Yes! Yes! YES!" and the phone stopped. Pam turned on her heel to return to the bar, and then it started to ring again. She waited to see if Eric would answer it. He didn't. The phone rang and rang. And rang some more.

She couldn't stand it. Pam flung open the door, marched past the naked woman on the couch, who shrieked and tried to cover herself with her scrap of a dress, and made a point of pushing Eric to one side so she could lean over to pick up the phone.  
"Fangtasia, the bar with a bite," she drawled, glaring at Eric, who just shrugged and continued to do up the buttons on his black shirt.  
The door of the office opened again and Ginger came crashing in, waving her arms in the air and nearly knocking down the shelf by the door that was stocked with bottles and boxes.  
"I'm NOT working with her ANY MORE!" she yelled. "She's a BITCH and a THIEF and she STOLE my tips!"  
The woman on the couch hopped up with a shriek and tried to pull the dress over her head. Ginger ignored her and turned to Eric, who in turn ignored Ginger.  
"Yes?" Pam said into the receiver.  
"Pam?" the voice was soft, shaky. "It's Maggie Kennick. Is Eric there? I mean, I don't want to talk to him, I just want to know if he's there."  
"If this is what you consider stalking," Pam said, "it's a really poor attempt. Of course he's here. Why?"  
The door burst open again and Evie stormed in, her small fangs extended.  
"You stole my TIPS!" hollered Ginger. "Whore!"  
"Trailer trash!" Evie sneered.  
The brunette slid on to her knees on the floor, peering under the couch – probably looking for her underwear, such as it was. Evie and Ginger were circling each other, making stabbing motions in the air.  
Eric tied his shoelaces, the picture of calm.  
Pam put a hand over her free ear to block out the noise and said, "Why are you phoning, Maggie?"  
"I just saw a face at the window," she whispered.  
" _What_?" Pam repeated.

Eric snatched the phone off her.  
"She just saw a face at the window," Pam said. "Stupid girl probably saw a bird. Or the moon."  
Her maker narrowed his eyes and turned his back on the cacophony.  
"You'll have to speak up," he said into the receiver. "I'm standing in a room full of hysterical women."

Pam bundled Ginger and Evie back behind the bar and gave Devon strict orders to keep them there. Then she sent the dark-haired woman off the ladies' room, her underwear in her hand, to set her clothing to rights. Before she could walk away, Pam grabbed her by the arm and glamoured her. She didn't need this woman back in the bar every evening, pining and making cow eyes at Eric from the bottom of the stage. When she got back to the office, Eric was already in his jacket and pocketing his car keys.  
"Good," he said curtly. "I might need you. Can you leave the bar without those two tearing each other's eyes out?"  
"Devon is on it," Pam answered. "Why are you rushing off to help her? Tell her to chill, you'll be home in a couple of hours. She thinks she saw a face at the window, for crying out loud. It was probably one of the maintenance guys, looking to see why the light was on."  
"It wasn't a maintenance guy," he said, handing Pam her jacket from the coat stand behind him. "It was a vampire."  
"How do you know?"  
Eric looked at her and gave her a wry smile.  
"It was an upstairs window," he said.

When they got to the house, the lights were off. Maggie must've been standing in the hall waiting for them because she was at the foot of the stairs when Eric opened the door. Her normally pale skin was as white as a vampire's, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheekbones looked dark against her pallor.  
"What happened?" Eric asked. Pamela noticed they made no attempt to approach each other, standing a couple of metres apart like wary opponents.  
"I was Skyping my Uncle James and I just lost reception for a minute or two. When my laptop got a signal again, he was offline, so I decided to record a video message for him to tell him I'd call him later."  
"And then you looked out the window?" Eric asked.  
"No," she said. "I was recording the message when I saw the face at the window behind me. I saw it on the computer screen. I have it on my laptop, I've watched it a dozen times, it's definitely a face."  
"Show me," Eric ordered and they followed her into the living room, where the laptop stood open on the table. Maggie pressed a couple of buttons and then stood back to allow the two vampires to look at the screen.

The video was recorded in Eric's spare room. Maggie had been sitting cross-legged on the bed, the laptop on her knees. Behind her the curtains were half-pulled, the upper part of the window open to let in the night air.  
"Hi James," she said. "I'm going to go to bed now, so we can chat again later. I'll call you to – "  
The face at the window.  
She was right: it was definitely a face. It appeared at the window for a second, a flash of white, then it disappeared.  
"Pause it," Pam said, but when Maggie paused it, but the video – not good quality to begin with – appeared unfocussed and pixellated. It was a pale face in the darkness, no doubt about that, and probably a man.

"How did he get up there?" Maggie asked fearfully.  
"He flew," Eric said.  
" _Flew_?" Maggie repeated.  
In answer, Eric levitated off the ground a couple of inches.  
"Holy shit. A flying vampire. If that's not the stuff of nightmares, I don't know what is." Maggie looked a bit queasy. "I'd heard there were some who could but I didn't think – I didn't know …"  
She appeared unable to finish the thought. "What's your superpower, then?" she asked Pam.  
"My deadly wit," Pam returned.  
Maggie smiled at her. She had a pleasant face, Pam thought, but when she smiled, her features lit up with her mischievous grin. And even though she was clearly frightened to death, the Kennick girl couldn't keep a straight face.

Eric clicked at buttons, then straightened up. "I'll have to send this to someone more skilled than either of us with the computer. This might need facial recognition software, or whatever they call it, to give us a clearer picture of who it is. It could be one of Queen Catherine's lackeys, sent to see what you're up to – or maybe one of your Empress's. In the meantime, however, I will stay with you and make sure the house is not breached. A vampire can enter my home, so you're not safe here by yourself."  
"Thank you," Maggie said. It sounded surprised, sincere. "I really appreciate it, Eric."  
He nodded, but the carrier reached out and gently touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. Eric stood stock-still, his eyes widened a fraction at her touch. Pam tilted her head, looking from her maker to the woman in front of her.  
"Sorry about earlier on," Maggie murmured and let her hand fall. Eric pulled his hand back, as though he were shaking off her touch.  
"It's okay," he said and then, more briskly, "Pam – will you close up? I'll call by tomorrow night when we clear up what has happened here."  
"Fine, fine," she said. "I know when I'm not needed."  
"You don't have to leave on my account," Maggie said. "I was just going to bed. If that's okay?" she turned to Eric.  
"Fine," he said. "I will see you when I wake."  
They looked at each other, then Maggie ducked her head. They made no attempt to touch each other or move closer and certainly no goodnight kisses were exchanged. Pam's curiosity was stirred.

Through the arch that led to the hall, Pam watched her walk up the stairs, her head bowed and the laptop under her arm. Pam looked at her maker; he was deep in thought, clicking a thumbnail against his teeth.  
"What do you think?" she asked him.  
"To quote our favourite Irishwoman," Eric replied, "I think it's sucky. I don't like the situation at all, but there's not much we can do right now. I'll have TJ phone around tomorrow and see if there's anyone between here and Dallas who can help me out."  
Pam couldn't stop herself.  
"And what do you think of _her_?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the stairs.  
Eric looked up and then pretended to look at his watch.  
"She's ... unusual," he said at last.  
"I've noticed," Pam answered. "She might be good for you."  
" _Yeah_ ," said Eric, the one syllable laden with – what was it? Sarcasm? Scepticism? Pam couldn't decide. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Pam returned the embrace, squeezing his arm a little bit.  
"Good night, Miss de Beaufort," he said.  
"Good night, Mr Northman."

When Pam rose the next evening, there was a message on her phone.  
"It's Magdalena Kennick," she said. "Sorry to bother you with more problems, Pamela, but I've got bad news. Stephen phoned me to say that Ilaria is gone. She's disappeared, they have no idea where she is. The Queen thinks something bad might have happened. Please come over to Eric's house when you wake."  
Pam shuddered. What did humans call it? The feeling that someone had walked over her grave. She knew instinctively that things had just gone from bad to much, much worse.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII

 _Regensburg  
Bavaria, Germany  
1353_

"Eric?"  
He turned. Godric was sitting beside him on a large stone that had been dragged into place for the stonemasons to work on. Night had fallen but there was still a lot of activity around the square: the building site by the cathedral had been half-heartedly fenced off to the public, but young men and women of less than stellar repute were sitting on the stones, exchanging jeers and jokes. Two _Gaukler_ – jugglers in ragged clothes – were tossing their little leather balls with speed and skill by the light of a torch held up by an equally ragged young woman.  
"Eric, we will stay here," Godric decided. Eric nodded. They had travelled slowly south over several lifetimes, moving from one large town to the next, from one building site to the next one. Godric, calling himself Gottfried, had found work transcribing manuscripts, making copies of stonemason's plans or tallying the wages owed to the masons and builders. Sometimes he passed himself off as a monk, Brother Gottfried or Brother Godfrey from England, sometimes he was simply a boy who could read and write and was willing to work for pittance. Godric wanted to be where the plans were drawn: at night he climbed over half-built walls and pored over the chief stonemason's drawings, trying to understand the numbers and lines that represented the plans for the cathedral's ground and elevation.

Eric followed his maker willingly, but he was not interested in this succession of building projects. They were heading towards the great mountains in the south, the Alps, beyond which there was a country full of wonders and a tribe of warriors that Godric called the Romans. They were legion, Godric said, they had built temples and theatres and aqueducts; they had marched on foot and conquered all of the known world, even managing to tame the Western Isles, long before the Vikings put their feet on British and Irish soil. Eric wanted to see these warriors; he was sick to the teeth of monks and masons, sculptors and glassmakers. He wanted once again to be among men who fought. But Godric kept telling him that the Romans themselves were long gone, nothing remained but their buildings.  
"See, Eric," he'd said. "Long after these humans have turned to dust, their buildings survive. These cathedrals will still stand when we, too, are dust."  
Eric had been impressed at first: with every decade that passed in his vampire life, he saw more and more wonders. He watched as men worked to find ways to create buildings that stretched to the sky to worship their Christian god, the weakling who let himself be crucified instead of using his power to smite and kill his enemies. Eric had spent nights dragging and carving stones to make their great holy houses, becoming a passable mason with time, as he worked with the groups of men hired to put in extra work to meet important deadlines, like a visit from the local prince, bishop or even the Holy Roman Emperor himself.

They had stopped in Bamberg for a decade, leaving only when they could no longer explain why Godric looked much the same as he did when they arrived. Eric, being older, could pass without much notice being taken, but Godric remained an eternal man-child and people had begun to whisper. Godric had heard that another cathedral was being erected further south in Regensburg, in a daring and modern style, so they set off on foot and arrived just before their Viking _Jul_ , or Christmas, the time when the people celebrated the birth of their Christchild. The city of Regensburg was small and prosperous, built on to the banks of the River Danube. In the depths of winter, the wide river rushed with such a force through the centre of the city that it made Eric heartsick for the sea, for a boat. It had been a long time since they had been near the coast, winding their way down through the centre of the European continent. Beyond the Alps lay a sea, Godric had promised. A warm, blue sea, unlike any Eric had seen before. Eric couldn't wait; in the meantime he watched the little boats navigate under the great Stone Bridge that arched across the river, wishing he was at the helm of one of them.

The cathedral in Regensburg was smaller than many they had worked on already, but it had windows of coloured glass unlike any they had seen before. The windows were as tall as a tree: when the full moon shone through them, the colours lit up and danced like the kind of hues the two vampires only remembered from their human lives. For the two or three nights when the moon was at its zenith, they had sneaked into the cathedral in the dead of night, standing under its vaulted ceilings and looking at the stained glass.  
Standing in a puddle of pale reflected colour, Godric had turned a shining face to Eric. "What a splendid age we live in, child. These windows are magnificent."  
And Godric had turned towards them, trying to take in as much as he could, while Eric looked around, bored. These cathedrals were gloomy and solemn; and they stank of those damned herbs the Christians were always burning for their god. What did they call it? _Weihrauch_ – incense. Their god must be as perfumed as a woman, Eric thought. On their high holidays, the bishops and priests swung the thurible like a weapon, diffusing the place with that wretched stench. He hated it. Eric stubbed the tiles on the floor with his foot. He wanted to be back out in the cold December air, seeking out his prey for the night, not standing around looking at windows.

He saw the girl first, but she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at Godric. At speed, Eric dragged her down, his large hand clamped over her mouth. She shrieked and wriggled till he threw her down on the ground before Godric, then she started to cry.  
"You cannot harm me in a house of prayer, not with God and his angels as my witness!" she sobbed.  
"We care naught for your god or his angels," Eric growled, "And this place is not holy to us."  
"Eric," Godric chided softly. He helped the girl to her feet. Godric was not tall, but next to him, she was smaller still. Her hair was tied up under a modest white veil, showing only the smallest amount of white-blond hair, and she wore a mantle of good woollen cloth: she wasn't a prostitute, that much was for sure. She had the stature of a young girl but her face was older – she might've been seventeen or eighteen at most.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked. She wiped her eyes with her sleeves.  
"I was praying," she said. "I always come here to pray when I cannot sleep."  
"How did you get in?" Eric asked gruffly. They had scoured walls and let themselves into an upper window in a part of the cathedral still being constructed.  
"I have a key," she said and showed them the key tucked into her long sleeve. "My father is one of the glassmakers. They have a key for one of the side doors."  
Godric's face lit up. "Your father worked on these?" he said with a swooping motion. The girl's eyes followed his hand and nodded. "That one," she said, and pointed towards the window behind him. Godric sighed with pleasure and she smiled, a sweet smile that looked only prettier with her tear-stained cheeks. Eric looked at his maker, alarmed: Godric was smiling back, his gaze fixed on the woman-child as though she were more beautiful than the coloured windows.

He took her hand. "I am Gottfried," he said. "What's your name?"  
The girl blushed and squirmed but did not pull her hand away. "My name is Hildegard," she said. "But my family call me Hildi."  
"Will you sit with me, Hildi?" Godric asked softly.  
She looked up at him from under her lashes, her dark eyes hardly able to meet his. "Yes," she whispered.  
Godric looked at Eric and nodded curtly at the way they'd come in. Eric was at once both relieved and annoyed – relieved to be able to get out and away from this dreary place, but annoyed that his maker was staying behind to make cow eyes at the glassmaker's girl. He took a few strides into the darkness and leapt up behind one of the columns to scramble up towards the ceiling and out into the crisp night air. When he looked down, Godric and Hildi were sitting side by side on a stone step, his dark head touching her blond one.  
And Godric was still holding her hand.

Eric and Godric had found shelter in the crypt of a church. They'd flung the bones from a couple of stone tombs into a third so they could find rest during the day. Godric could fit into any vault, but few men were as tall as Eric in life and fewer still as tall as him in death, so he was always forced to lie in the coffins in a near-foetal position, his long legs drawn up towards his chest. Normally this was reason enough to rise the very minute the sun went down behind the horizon, with Godric following slowly when he felt rested enough. Since meeting the girl, however, Eric was waking to find Godric already up, daring to chance the last rays of weak winter light in order to be with her sooner. She apparently never asked why they could not see each other during the day; she simply accepted that they both had to work till sundown. She was the eldest girl in a large family, so she was busy washing and cleaning and cooking till her father and brothers returned from work on the cathedral in the evening. After the evening meal, she pretended to go to bed, sneaking out when the rest of the family were asleep, and slipping into the cathedral with her stolen key.

At first Godric encouraged Eric to spend time with them, but Eric was not interested in spending time whispering about poetry and sculptures and Bible verses – about which Godric suddenly seemed to know an astonishing amount. Eric preferred to spend his nights in alehouses, pretending to drink beer, fondling women and persuading them to go outside to the dark alleys with him so he could sink his fangs into their soft necks. On his way back to the crypt before dawn, he sometimes saw Godric in the shadows, the girl wrapped in his cloak and drawn up against him, their heads touching, dipping out of sight beneath the cloth. When Eric asked how she was allowed to stay out all night, Godric had told him that she went to bed with her sisters and he kept watch outside her house till they were sleeping, then helped her climb down over the roof of the lean-to and down into the warmth of his cloak. They spent the nights in the cathedral, in the darkest corners, where Godric wrapped her in a fur he kept hidden there during the day and cosseted her with sweetmeats.

"Have you slept with her?" Eric asked one evening when they rose. They were halfway through Advent and the first snow had fallen. They'd been in Regensburg for nearly a fortnight; Eric thought it was high time his master had the girl and moved on. He was unprepared for the venom with which Godric answered, "Of _course_ not!", as though the thought of besmirching the girl was not even to cross Eric's lips.  
They were standing in the crypt, ready to part for the night. Godric was brushing down his clothes: Eric noticed that he had bought himself a new green kirtle to match his brown woollen cloak. He looked smart and well-to-do, like the respectable son of a respectable tradesman.  
"She is clever and so interesting," he enthused. "She knows so much about the cathedral; her father and brothers have always discussed their work at home and she's better informed than many's an apprentice about glassmaking. She has asked me to visit with her family on Saturday evening, to sup with them and meet her father."  
"Meet her father?" Eric asked sullenly. "Do you propose to ask for her hand, then, if you do not intend to fuck her?"  
He had expected an emphatic denial; instead Godric looked slightly self-conscious.  
"Because," Eric continued, "you are the one who has always told me that we do not take human wives. They die. It is their wont."  
Godric stood up to his full height. He barely came up to Eric's chest but when he spoke, he spoke with the kind of authority that made Eric feel crushingly small.  
"If I wish to take a wife, then I will take a wife, Eric," he said.  
"Does she know you are vampire?" he asked, a touch spitefully.  
Godric shrugged. "She will love me, no matter what I am. And when I am her husband, I will make her happier than any human man."  
"But why this one?" Eric wanted to know. He suspected that this Hildi was not human, a _Ljósálfr_ , one of the sweet-spirited light elves he'd learned about as a child, and she had ensnared his maker.  
"She is so good and so tender-hearted," Godric said. "She is the quintessence of all that is beautiful about human existence. She is the one I want to be with."  
The words made a chill run through Eric's heart: _she is the one I want to be with_.  
"What about me?" he asked, hating the words even as he spoke them.  
Godric looked surprised. "You, too," he said lightly. "Hildi says they are building a cathedral in a place called Cologne, one that will overshadow any other built in the realm, so splendid it will be. Her father is talking of moving there to see if they have work. If this is so, we will go with them. We will find work there and make our own home and hearth, and you will always be welcome with us, as my kin."

Eric had always had a keener sense of where cities lay than Godric, who simply followed the heavenly bodies in the direction he wanted to go. Eric knew where Cologne was: it was north of Regensburg, not south – not en route to the great mountains of the Alps.  
"We are going _south_ ," he said. "Cologne is to the north."  
Godric shrugged. "Well, in our next lifetime," he said. "The Roman cities will still be there when the great cathedral at Cologne is built."  
He touched Eric's arm in passing, a by-your-leave before he scrambled up the stone steps and out of the vault, on his way to meet his sweeting.  
His vampire child watched him leave and a searing burst of rage burned in his chest.

When they rose on Saturday evening, Godric took more care than usual with his appearance, pulling his shirt and tying it tightly to cover the blue markings on his chest. He smoothed his hair and presented himself to Eric, who was leaning against a damp wall, watching his maker's efforts with ill-disguised displeasure.  
"Be happy for me, Eric," Godric said.  
Eric mustered up a smile, but inside he was seething. He had followed Godric for the best part of two centuries; he was bound and beholden to him, but he was beginning to feel that Godric was willing to throw him over and abandon him for a pretty little brown-eyed wench and another Christian god-house.  
"How do I look?" Godric asked, anxious in a way that Eric thought unbecoming for a vampire as old and powerful as his maker.  
"You look fine," Eric said. "Do you have a gift for the girl and her parents?"  
"A gift?" Godric asked, really anxious now.  
"A gift, a tribute. Something pretty for the girl – a trinket, something for her wrist or neck, to show your intentions are true. And something for her father and mother so they know that you are a serious suitor."  
Godric tapped his hose, looking for his money. "I will buy something now, then," he said, "but I must rush or I will be late to their supper."  
He pulled his cloak hurriedly around his neck. "Will you meet Hildi on the steps of the cathedral and tell her I'll be late?" he asked Eric. "Tell her to wait for me."  
Eric agreed.

Hildi was waiting by the steps of the Cathedral. She didn't see Eric as he approached, she was busy looking after her two little sisters, who darted back and forth in the twilight, trying to tag each other and run away. When she saw the vampire, she seemed relieved, then she looked for Godric and looked worried again.  
" _Griaßdigood,"_ she said, God's greetings to you. Eric nodded curtly in return. " _Wo ist der Gottfried?_ "  
She craned her neck to look up at him. Eric looked down into her anxious little face and felt the rage boil up in him again.  
"Come with me," he said and grabbed her arm.  
"But my sisters – "  
"They will be fine."  
He yanked her into the shadows. The square was busy and the little sisters didn't even notice her being pulled aside, so intent were they on their game. In the darkness, he bent his face to her level and dropped fang. She shrieked, but he whipped a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.  
"Do you know what I am?" he hissed.  
She shook her head, then nodded. Eric loosened his grip.  
" _Vampir_ ," she whispered. Something clicked in her: "Is Godric a vampire, too?"  
"Of course," Eric grinned. "We both are. He intends to marry you, _meine hübsche kleine Hildegard_ , and then on your wedding night, he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink your blood. You will be his wife and his plaything."  
Hildi started to sob. "I do not believe you," she said.  
"But it is true. You surely don't think he really loves you, do you? We are vampire, we are not your god's creatures, we are alone in the darkness and we care only for ourselves."  
"I hate you," she said and she had the tenacity to thump him. Her soft blow landed on his ribs; Eric merely had to swat her hand away.  
"Be gone," he said. "And tell no one what I told you or you will be burned as a witch for consorting with a vampire. Out all night, cavorting with the devil's kind – that will get you racked, for sure."  
Hildi gasped, terrified.  
"I could make you forget we had this conversation," Eric continued "but you might see him some evening and simply fall in love with him again. So I am telling you now: stay away from him, from us. Spend your nights in your bed and if you know what's good for you, you tell him that you are no longer interested in him."  
She nodded, slowly. Reluctantly.  
"Tell him ... tell him you've decided to become a nun. To worship your Christ for the rest of your life. And be thankful to me for telling you the truth, even if Godric hasn't."  
He released her arm, tossing her against the base of the wall, and retracted his fangs.  
"Go," he said imperiously and she scrambled away, not looking back as she swooped up the smallest sister in her arms and dragged the other one away, howling.

When Godric arrived, Eric was sitting on the steps.  
"Where is she?" the older vampire asked. Eric shrugged.  
"I haven't seen her," he lied. "She never turned up."  
"Maybe something happened?" Godric said.  
"Maybe," Eric agreed. His maker decided to wait. He waited till the clock struck the hour, then waited till it struck the next hour. Godric was a little frantic, but Eric calmed him.  
"You've maybe mixed up the day," he suggested and Godric's face brightened – maybe it wasn't Saturday – _Sonnabend_ – but Sunday evening, _Sonntagabend_!  
But the next day, Hildi didn't come either. Godric wanted to go to her house when everyone was sleeping and climb in her window, but Eric convinced him to wait: maybe there was trouble at home. If her feelings for Godric were true, then she would come to the cathedral to find him. It would be better if his maker simply waited for her – surely she would turn up some evening with a perfectly logical explanation, like an ailing mother or sister or some such human hindrance.

As the nights passed, Eric veered between the elation of feeling that he might have got away with separating the lovers and the continuing terror of his interference being found out. He wanted to try to convince Godric to forget the girl and move on – to another woman, another town, another cathedral – but Godric was gone when he rose and didn't return to the crypt till after Eric had gone to ground. On the seventh night, Eric rose and went to the alehouse he'd begun to frequent most often and pretended to drink a beer, looking for someone who'd been south to Italy who could tell him a bit about the route. Just before the bells struck midnight, he felt the dull thud in his chest that indicated that Godric was calling him.  
 _Eric, Eric._  
His maker's voice filled his head; Eric tossed a coin on the table and stood up, shoving his full tankard at the man sitting opposite him. He pulled his cloak around his tall frame and left the house, making straight for the cathedral as though pulled by some invisible thread.

When he climbed down out of the dark shadows, he saw Godric immediately. His maker was sitting on the steps of the altar and his face was a mask of blood. When Eric approached he could see that Godric's eyes were red-rimmed with his own, and Eric smelled the sweet smell of someone's young blood on his maker's face and clothes. He was hit by a sense of foreboding.  
"Kneel," Godric commanded as he stood up, and Eric knelt before the Christ-altar, his head bowed.  
"You told her what we are, did you not?"  
Numbly, Eric nodded his head.  
"You told her what we are and you told her to stay away from me," Godric thundered. He seemed to care not that a watchman might hear them, or that his voice could carry and echo against the cathedral's high, vaulted ceilings. "You wanted to take her from me for _spite_. Like a child, you did not want to share, so you ruined her for me. And you thought I would not find out. You are not only a spoiled child, but a stupid one."  
Eric began to feel afraid. His maker was not a couple of inches of the ground; his rage was so intense, it lifted him in the air.  
"Because all I had to do was ask her, Eric," Godric continued. "I climbed in through her window and asked her why she did not love me any more. She just cried and said she could not love a creature like me, she was going to devote herself to Christ. _A creature like me_ ," he repeated. "What does she know of a creature like me, unless another creature like me told her?"  
"You know we should not take a human wife," Eric mumbled. "You always said so."  
" _This one was different!_ " Godric roared, and the words bounced back off the walls at them. He struck Eric across the face, drawing blood. The kneeling vampire gasped: Godric had never hit him in any way before, but behind this slap was all the force of hatred. Eric gingerly touched his jaw, unsure whether his cheekbone had been broken.  
"So I killed her," Godric continued in a calmer tone. "I took her blood and I strangled her. I was not going to let her spend her life in the company of old women, praying to a heartless god." He wiped a bloody hand across his bloody face, smearing the blood to his ear. "So you get your wish, my child, we will have to leave Regensburg tonight."  
Eric's heart leapt in relief and he looked up at Godric, full of hope. But his maker hunched down, so they were face to face, then he cupped Eric's face in his bloody hands.  
"Were you not my child, I would stake you for this," he said. "But I cannot stake my own, so I abjure you."  
"No, Godric," Eric said, feeling a wave of panic rise. "I am sorry, I didn't understand that she meant that much to you. Please, master, please don't leave me."  
"I abjure you," he repeated. "For one hundred years, I abjure you. I do not wish to see you or I will kill you before you can say hello. Leave now before the dawn comes. You will need to get a headstart on those who will hunt us when her body is found in the morning."  
Godric stood up and straightened his cloak, then wiped his face on a piece of white cloth. Hildi's kerchief, Eric suddenly realised.  
"Go now," he said, walking off into the darkness.  
"How will I find you?" Eric called after him.  
"If you have not met the true death by then, I will find _you_ ," Godric called.  
And disappeared into the shadows.

 _1472  
Amiens, France_

Eric sat in the shadows, listening to the monks' Compline. The night prayer was conducted by candlelight, their hooded figures created bobbing shadows as the flames flickered in the draughty chapel. As in every city, every town, he had spent his exile in, he sought out the churches and cathedrals, sitting on stone steps or irreverently perched on some knight's tomb, looking and waiting in the darkness. His clothes smelled of candlewax and those wretched herbs they burned for their crucified god. He was not inclined to pray, but he used his time in these god-houses to hope that Godric was still alive. Maybe that was prayer; he wasn't sure. A hundred years had passed, and more. His maker had not come back for him. Eric was beginning to believe that he was lost to Godric and would not be found. That Godric did not want to find him.

Someone slid out of the darkness and sat down beside him. Eric didn't dare move, couldn't bring himself to turn his head. They sat, still and silent, side by side, till the monks retreated through the side door and back to their monastic cells.  
"Am I forgiven?" Eric asked, head bowed.  
Godric leaned his head on his child's shoulder.  
"You are," he replied.

"Eric?"  
"Yes?"  
"Eric, are you awake?"  
Was he awake? Eric did not know he'd been asleep. He thudded out of the dream with a start, his hand grabbing at something solid, finding the back of the couch in his grip. The television was still on and the Kennick girl was kneeling on the floor in front of him, her face full of concern.  
"Are you okay?" she asked. "It looked like you were having a bad dream."  
"Vampires don't dream," he lied.

 _I love backstories - and I love history - so if you've read this far, thank you... I hope you like them, too ;-) And should you ever have a chance, visit Regensburg's cathedral. It is beautiful and Godric was right: the windows are magnificent._


	14. Chapter 14

_Beware – in this chapter lies some smut. Beware, be aware and turn away if you are faint-hearted._

XIV

I listened to Pam leave, then heard Eric come up the stairs. I braced myself, in case he would knock on my door, but instead he passed it by and went into his own room. When I brushed my teeth, I could hear the faint sound of his shower, as his bathroom adjoined mine. He was probably washing off the dingy smell of bar and the dingier smell of the woman he'd been with while he was supposedly at work. I'd smelled her. I wasn't stupid.

 _Vampires, honestly!_ I thought, spitting the toothpaste down the sink. I went back into the room and checked that all the windows were locked, tucked the curtains in so there wasn't even the tiniest crack to peer into, and then got dressed for bed. I defiantly pulled out a faded black cotton t-shirt and a pair of baggy fleece pyjama bottoms: if Eric Northman was planning on stopping at my door after his shower, he wasn't going to think that I was waiting for him in my sexiest negligee.

Actually, my negligee was negligible; the closest I got to sexy nightwear were a couple of silky pyjamas that my mother had given me last Christmas. But still – I didn't want to give him ideas. I heard the door of his room open and shut, and I held my breath. Then a stair tread creaked and I heard him turn on the TV downstairs. I didn't know whether I was relieved or indignant, but relief won out by a small margin. I shut my eyes and tried to sleep.

But I couldn't. I got up to check the windows again, then I went to the bathroom and before I got back into bed, I checked them one more time. In bed, wide awake, heart _thump-thump-thump_ ing, I realised that a strong vampire could shatter a window and slit my throat faster than Eric Northman could get up the stairs. If he even heard me, that is. An old vampire could kill me silently and leave me to bleed out on Northman's Egyptian cotton sheets without the Viking even realising that there was an intruder in his home. I mulled over this scenario for a long time, then came to a reluctant conclusion; one that made me get out of bed, pull on a cardigan and socks and pad downstairs to Eric's living room.

He was watching some forensic thing on TV – you know, where a bunch of earnest people go around collecting fingernail clippings and random hairs to solve some seemingly-unsolvable murder. I approached the couch quietly, knowing that he was probably perfectly aware that I was there, slipping around to seat myself on the woollen rug on the floor in front of his sofa. It was then I noticed that he wasn't awake at all. Nor was he in his 'down' mode – that still, silent state that vampires go into when they go to ground or withdraw to rest. Instead, he appeared to be asleep.

Fascinated, I knelt on the rug in front of him. His eyes were closed and I could see by the quick flicker of his pupils that he was dreaming.  
 _Dreaming_?  
Vampires didn't dream – that was common knowledge. I had once asked Ilaria what happened when they rested and she shrugged: there was just peace. Silence. Blackness.  
But Eric was definitely dreaming. His lips moved now and again, his head jerked a little to the side. I moved closer to look at him: the room was lit by the television, which I turned down, so I had to move my face closer to his to see what he was doing. As I watched he smiled, then turned his face away from me. I stayed very still and he turned back. His expression darkened and his brows drew in some kind of pain or distress, he began to shake his head slightly as if he were trying to stop something. Or someone.

I had seen him without clothes but there was something in his face that rendered him far more naked to me now. I felt bad: Eric was normally so smooth, so shielded, it embarrassed me to see him so unguarded and I knew that he would hate to know that I'd been watching him. With my hand on the carpet to steady myself, I made to stand up and sneak off upstairs when suddenly he gasped out loud and his eyes shot open. One of his legs jerked, kicking the armrest at the end of the couch and he grabbed the back cushion in a white-knuckle death grip. I froze, terrified.

He looked at me, wild-eyed.  
"Eric?"  
"Yes?"  
"Eric, are you awake?"  
He just looked at me, then blinked once or twice and looked around.  
"Are you okay?" I asked. "It looked like you were having a bad dream."  
"Vampires don't dream," he said glibly.  
I stared him down. We both knew that was a lie, but given what I had just witnessed, I was prepared to let it go, uncontested.

"What do you want, Magdalena?"  
"Nothing," I answered, adding my own lie to the mix. "I just couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd watch TV with you for a while."  
He looked at me. He was still lying on the couch, turned towards me, and I was still kneeling before him. We were, more or less, at eye level.  
"You are frightened," he stated.  
"Yes," I answered, honestly this time. "Is that a guess or can you feel it because I've had your blood?"  
He sighed. "I can feel nothing of you," he admitted. "You barely had a trace of my blood, it doesn't count as a bond. Of course, nothing you or I will say will convince either of our gracious rulers that this is not the case, but no: the short answer is that I can't sense you."  
We stared at each other. I tried to form the words to make my request but he beat me to it.  
"So you want my blood after all?" he said finally and he could hardly stop himself from smiling, cat's-got-the-cream-like. "That's quite a change in attitude in a few short hours."  
"Eric," I said firmly, "I know all you're thinking about is how I'm going to melt at your feet and bonk you senseless once our blood bond is established, but there's much more to it, you know."  
He raised an eyebrow. God above, he was thick. He'd spent centuries in Europe, he should know this shit.

"I'm a _Kennick_ ," I said. "When we form a symbiosis with a vampire, there's a _ceremony_. With witnesses and swearing of fealty and declarations of intent, for crying out loud, and the whole damn thing in Latin, to boot. My family would never let me bond with a vampire unless he'd been thoroughly vetted and my grandparents had visited with his maker and his maker's maker. The Empress hasn't even told my family that you and I are shacked up here in Shreveport, bonded by a drunken blood swap, because the disgrace is so _enormous_ for everyone involved. You would not be considered a good match and my grandfather would probably come after you with his entire collection of silver-tipped stakes and keep your fangs as trophies."  
I took a deep breath. It was a long speech and Eric's eyebrows had practically disappeared beneath his hairline.  
"And that is why I married a human man and had a human relationship, because any kind of relationship with a vampire resembles a feudal marriage, with all the trappings of protocol and loyalty-swearing and a bloody entry in the _Book of the Undead_!"  
My voice had started to reach a pitch best heard by dogs. Eric lowered his eyebrows and moved in against the back of the couch. Gently, he pulled me by the arm to lie down on the sofa beside him. It was wide and deep, but even still, it was hard not to touch him. I lay stiffly beside him and shut my eyes. My thoughts were whirring around in my head. He stroked my hair very softly, a very startling experience. His fingers were very gentle and, surprisingly, I felt myself start to relax under his touch.

"I saw a woman burned at the stake once, for having hair this colour," he said. "They said she was a witch. Are you a witch, Maggie?"  
That made me grin. "Yes, I am. I parked my broomstick outside beside your Audi."  
He laughed and I had the feeling he wasn't that used to laughing out loud.  
"Why don't you just take my blood and we can worry about everything else when the time comes?" he asked. "You think too much about everything. Having my blood means I can feel when you are in danger. And a blood bond that is formed can be dissolved. We'll have it annulled when you return to Ireland and your family will get over the fact that their little Magdalena succumbed to a handsome and dashing vampire on a drunken night out. There." He snapped his fingers. "Problem solved."

It was nowhere near as simple as that; he wouldn't have to face my parents and grandparents, who had barely gotten over the shock of my marriage breakdown and unexpected entry into high-level vampire politics. Not to mention the Empress's wrath when she next saw me. But one thing was for sure: Eric Northman knowing when I was afraid or in peril was precisely what had made me sneak down the stairs, hoping he would offer me his blood without my losing too much face.

He didn't let me think about it any more, dropping fang and piercing his own wrist before I could open my mouth to object. He held his wrist to my mouth and I raised my head slightly to lick the droplets of blood.  
"Ugh," I blurted out. "This is just so disgusting."  
I gingerly licked his wrist some more, trying to touch my tongue to the skin around the wounds and not the blood itself. He dipped his head down to my ear.  
"Suck me, Magdalena," he murmured, a note of teasing in his voice.  
Maybe it was the blood I'd already ingested, or maybe it was just his nearness, his scent, but I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated lust surge in me. I took his wrist and sucked it hard and he moaned, gripping me tighter and rubbing himself against me, his hardness insistent against my thigh. When I released his arm, he nuzzled my neck, scraping his extended fangs against my skin.  
"Woah," I said. My brain was snapping – _snap! snap! snap!_ – I felt like my consciousness was flying, like I was drunk.  
"Am I attractive to you now?" he teased.  
" _Woah_ ," I said again. I started to laugh and he laughed with me. He bent to kiss me and I kissed him back, not caring, not caring, not caring. It was like someone had flicked the 'Off' switch on the thought centre of my brain and my entire being was lighter, freer.

Flinging my arms behind my head, I stretched like a cat, feeling my bones crack and elongate. Was the vampire blood making me taller? It was hardly possible, but Northman had old, old blood and it was making me feel like the most desirable being in the world. And when I turned to the vampire, I could see that he agreed. He pulled his t-shirt off over his head and busied himself getting me out of my cardigan and shirt. I let him: in fact, I lay back, grinning at him as he earnestly tried to divest me of clothes, kissing and scraping me with his fangs, leaving light scatchmarks across my stomach and breasts. He started to pull down my pyjamas – maybe I should've worn the silky ones? No, damn it, I was rocking the fleece, I was _gorgeous_ in them, my blood-drunk mind insisted – but I grabbed his chin and pulled him back up to my face. He hesitated for a minute, then rolled over on his back and moved me on top of him, pulling my legs upward so I straddled him.  
"Retract your fangs," I whispered and he did. We kissed passionately, fingers locked in each other's hair. When he moved against me, I felt his tip rub against me in a place that hadn't been touched in a long time. The two layers of cloth between us just made it more tantalising. I pushed him back on to the couch and sat up. Instantly, his fangs popped back out again and he bared them at me.  
"Wait," I said and slid my face down to his chest. I ran my fingers over his collar bone, stroked the muscles of his chest, his arms, and kissed his nipples. He moved against me, pulling at my pyjamas, trying to stroke a breast, but I wriggled out of his grip, intent on exploring his body as he had explored mine. I breathed deeply in the dip of his ribcage, smelling him.  
"Do I still smell of spiced apples?" he asked, grinning.  
I paused and breathed him in again. "No," I said, "It's kind of weird, actually. You smell of ..."  
I tried to place it, it rang a bell from childhood, my childhood in Catholic Ireland.  
"You smell of incense," I said, laughing.

He gave a yelp and shoved me off him with such force that he knocked me on to the rug.  
"Ow," I said, rubbing my tailbone. He leapt off the couch and towered over me, shouting at me in a language I didn't recognise.  
"What? What did I do?"  
" _Are you a witch?_ " he shouted.  
I was confused.  
"A _witch_?"  
"Why did you say I smell of incense?" he shouted.  
Duh. "Because you smell of incense," I replied. "Is that wrong? Is that bad?"  
"How did you know?"  
I stared at him. His fists were balled and he looked as though he were going to kill me with a single strike. Slowly, cautiously, I slid back on to the couch, not taking my eyes off him. Eric glowered at me. Biting my lip, I patted the seat beside me to indicate that he should sit ... and something changed in him. He sank down beside me and put his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.  
"You can smell my dreams," he said. I was about to point out that he'd told me vampires didn't dream but I shut my mouth. "How is that possible?"  
"I don't know," I whispered.  
"Carrier blood is known to let vampires dream," he continued, which was news to me. "I've known vampire monarchs who kept your kind for that purpose. But I didn't know it was like this."  
He turned to look at me. "I didn't know either," I said. And added, "I'm sorry," because it felt like I needed to say it. I lay back on the couch and this time it was me who pulled him down beside me.  
"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I'm sorry, Eric. I'm sorry." I kissed his jaw, stroking his hair back, kissed his cheeks, his lips. He paused, then returned my kisses, gently at first, then with a kind of fierceness that almost frightened me.

I pushed him back down and straddled him again. "I'll finish what I started," I said and, to my relief, he smiled broadly at me in return. I made my way down his chest, nuzzled the line of hair that ran from his navel to the band of his pants. He closed his eyes and arched his back slightly, so I could pull his pants down.  
"Suck me, Magdalena," he said for the second time that night, but there was no note of teasing in it this time. I pulled his clothes down further and nuzzled him with my lips. He moaned in response, his fingers threading gently through my hair.

Then the phone rang.  
"Ignore it," he said. It continued to ring, then the answering machine clicked on.  
"This is Stephen Hofmann, calling for Magdalena Kennick," a tinny voice said. I shot up, arrow straight, my finger over Eric's mouth to shut him up.  
"Maggie, when you get this message, please call me. Ilaria hasn't been seen since you left and the Queen fears something might have happened to her. You have my number; call me please."

"Fuck," Eric hissed.  
Yeah, not tonight, I thought and scrambled off him to find my phone.


	15. Chapter 15

_If you have read this far, thank you! Please consider leaving a review - or simply a few words to let me know you're there. Writing these chapters is akin to sending a message in a bottle out to sea... it's hard to tell if anyone ever reads it. If you like reading it, I'll keep writing it ;-)_

XV

I took the stairs, two at a time, and tossed the clothes on my bed in a heap on the floor, frantically looking for my mobile. When I found it, I almost punched Stephen's number into the screen and howled with dismay when it just went to his mailbox. Who could I phone? I scrolled down through my contacts and called Pam. She seemed like the kind of woman you could call in a crisis. But she didn't pick up either, so I left another message. I had just clicked back to the phone address book when it started to ring and my fingers shook as I pressed the 'accept call' button. It was Stephen, his familiar voice warm and kindly and full of longing: how was I? How were things? How was the weather in northern Louisiana?  
"Fine, fine," I answered distractedly. Did he not remember that the last time we'd been in close proximity, he'd been trying to sidle away from me and the scary vampire monarchs? Obviously not.

"Tell me about Ilaria," I begged, cutting across his weather report for the southern half of the state – yes, he was giving me meteorological updates.  
"Oh, yes." I could practically hear him shrugging. "Well, we went out on Saturday night – "  
Wait: Saturday. When was that? Oh, yes, we were heading towards Monday's dawn, so Saturday was barely a couple of days ago; way back when I gainfully employed in New Orleans.  
"Just Ilaria, Hans-Peter and I. We went to a nice vampire-human fusion bar in the French Quarter and at some point, Hans-Peter and I decided to go back to the hotel. Ilaria was pretty deep in conversation with a woman at the bar, so she told us to go ahead and she'd follow. And we haven't seen her since."  
In the few minutes it had taken my shaking hands to locate the telephone, I had pictured all kinds of gruesome scenarios. Ilaria staked. Ilaria held hostage by blue-coated Rob and Katie clones. Ilaria defanged by Anti-Charterists. And now Stephen was telling me that she'd just gone to a bar and hooked up with someone – and hadn't come to work the next day?

My silence must've spoken volumes because he laughed.  
"I know, right? I keep telling the Empress that she's probably shacked up somewhere with the blond human woman from the bar. I mean, we had a night off tonight so she wasn't needed here anyway … but the Empress has become so paranoid, she's convinced that Ilaria has been kidnapped or something."  
"Isn't it a bit early to worry that she's gone missing?" I asked. Given the dressing-down that Ilaria had probably got from her boss (the Empress) for letting her godchild (me) cavort with a known vampire troublemaker and general ne'er-do-well (Northman), I wasn't surprised that she'd chosen to go off radar for a couple of days.  
" _I_ think so," said Stephen, "but the Empress insisted that I phone you and ask if you've seen her."  
"No, not Ilaria," I said and told him about the face at the window.  
He sounded suitably worried. "Do you want me to come up there?" he asked. "I can tell the Empress that we have grounds to fear for your safety."  
"It's okay," I said and I suddenly felt a bit shy. "Eric is taking care of it."  
Now it was Stephen's turn to be silent and I could feel the waves of disapproval speeding down the phoneline and crashing against the side of my head.  
"Do not trust him, Maggie," he said. "He's not what he seems. If you knew what I knew about him…" His voice tailed off.  
"What do you know about him?" I whispered down the phone.  
More silence.  
"Nothing to do with the issue at hand," Stephen said evasively. "Just keep away from him, do you hear?"  
It was going to be slightly difficult, that bit. But I didn't want to admit that to Stephen. I mumbled a promise and crossed my fingers so I felt better about the lie.  
"I'll let you know when Ilaria comes walking back in the door," he said, and added, "And I'll come up to see you as soon as I can."  
"Great," I said weakly. That was all I needed: Stephen and Eric in the same room, God help me.

When I came out of the bathroom, Eric was leaning in my doorway. He spent a lot of time leaning against stuff, listening and thinking. I don't know how much he'd heard but I guessed it was probably most of it. Nonetheless, I filled him in: missing vampire, but no cause for concern. Yet.  
He nodded. "Coming to bed?" he asked. Dawn was approaching and I felt exhausted. It had been a long and eventful night and the effects of Eric's blood seemed to vanish in an instant: I was suddenly very human and very weary. I grabbed my mobile and pulled the comforter off my bed, knowing his room would be cold, and followed him down the hall. He opened his door and let me go in before him. He might've been planning to scoop me up in his arms and throw me down on the mattress to make passionate love, but I just made a beeline for the bed and crawled under a small mound of blankets. He regarded me for an instant and then stripped, matter-of-factly, not bothering with even a token show of modesty. I couldn't even keep my eyes open to enjoy the display; I was asleep before he got into the bed beside me.

I woke to the sound of my mobile and the doorbell ringing simultaneously. I answered my phone, suppressing a shriek when my movements activated a nightlight beside the bed. It was TJ.  
"Eh… Miss Magdalena?" he said. "This is TJ Knight. My father and I are at the door. Mr Northman said we should come by and look into some report about a prowler?"  
He sounded polite, formal.  
"Yes, sure. Thank you. Give me five minutes."  
I looked over at Eric. He wasn't dreaming now, just in that dead-like state: flat on his back, his eyes closed, covered to the chin with the black bed cover. I peeked under the blankets. He was wearing a t-shirt and some kind of long cotton pants, thank goodness. I wasn't sure I could handle Northman nudity. I replaced the blanket as I'd found it, in case he discovered that I'd been peeping at him. I hurried to my room to put on some clothes myself, then went downstairs to open the door.

TJ was standing in front of a man that was a copy of himself in a kind of _before/after_ way. His dad had the same tawny eyes and muscular build, but his face was lined and hard and his thick hair was graying over his ears. Before TJ could introduce us, he flicked a cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with his toe, then thought better of leaving the butt on Eric Northman's doorstep. He picked it up and pocketed it, a look of deep displeasure written across his face. If TJ wasn't fond of vampires, then his old man downright hated them.

"Heard you had an issue with a prowler, ma'am," said Daddy Knight, aka Troy, when we'd been properly introduced. "He said – " curt nod towards the house, no need to ask who _he_ was – "this guy been lookin' in your window. Your upstairs window. Can you show me which one that might be?"  
I led them around the side of the house, our feet squelching in the wet grass. December in Louisiana had been damp and cold and I shivered in the morning air. The two men, more suitably dressed for the outdoors than I, examined the ground, taking photographs of indents in the grass and mud that might have been footprints. Or not.  
"I don't see any signs of a ladder and I doubt he could climbed up the side of that house," Troy said, thoughtfully.  
"Oh, he could probably fly," I said without thinking. "Some of them can, apparently.  
"Jesus-fucking-Christ!" spat out TJ's dad, then added, "Sorry, ma'am. Excuse my French."  
"That's pretty much what I said when I heard," I said apologetically.  
That endeared me a little to TJ's father."Bad enough them goin' around at them speeds," he said. "But flyin' as well?" He shook his head in disgust.  
"Doesn't bear thinking about," I agreed.  
We made some _tsk-tsk_ noises and Mr Knight told his son they'd come back at night to get the scent.  
"We might come back with … eh… large tracker dogs," TJ's father said. "So don't get a fright if you look out and see them – "  
"She knows, Dad," TJ interjected and his father looked relieved.  
"Fine, fine. Tell him to keep his fangs in, then, if he sees a few wolves in his yard. It's just me an' a couple of the boys."  
"I will," I promised.  
They took their leave.  
"You okay for groceries, ma'am?" TJ asked me solicitously as he waited for his father to unlock the doors of the truck.  
"I'm running a bit low," I said, with appropriate earnestness. "I might have to engage your services again this week."  
"Just give me a call," he said and made a cap-tipping motion with his index finger.  
"Cookie run!" I mouthed and was rewarded with one of his beautiful smiles.  
I waved goodbye to them and went back upstairs, gleefully excited at the thought of seeing some werewolves under my window.

The next time I woke it was because of a sharp pricking sensation on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to find Eric gently jabbing the skin with his extended fangs: not enough to draw blood, but enough to be irritating. His eyes were full of mischief.  
"Stop that," I said and shoved his large head away. "I used to have a cat that did that. Scratched my face till I woke up."  
He slid over to wrap his arms around me, and I let him.  
"Are you comparing me to a cat?" he asked, nuzzling me in a very feline way. I gently scratched his jaw, his chin: our cat used to like that and Eric, rubbing his face against my fingers, didn't seem averse to it, either.  
"Hmm. Bossy, imperious and prone to sulking?" I rejoined. "Yes, I think there's some resemblance."  
He laughed into my hair. "You're amusing, Magdalena Kennick."  
"Glad you think so, Eric Northman."  
He nuzzled me again and I turned to flatten myself against him, pressing up against his chest and groin. His grin extended, baring his fangs. His were long and sharp, a sign that he was very old. I felt a sudden desire to touch them, but held back. It's something a lot of vampires consider quite intimate and, thus, often taboo.  
"I think we should carry on where we left off last night," he decided, interrupting my thoughts.  
"You see: bossy."  
"I can be very bossy," he agreed and ran a hand under my t-shirt. "Take it off."  
I writhed against him.  
"Slow down," I teased. "What's the rush?"  
"Oh, Pam is here," he said, trying to wrangle my top off. "She gets pissed if she has to wait."  
"What? _Here_? In the _house_?" I said, looking around the room as though she might pop out of a closet (really: vampires. You can't put it past them.)  
"Yes," he said vaguely, as we did a slight tug-o-war with my outer garments.  
"I'm actually outside the door," she announced. "And I'm pissed already. You told me to come by when I rose, so here I am. I would like to know what has happened to Ilaria, but if this is going to take a long time, I'll just go downstairs and watch some HBO."  
"Go downstairs, Pam," Eric ordered, "Now!" and dipped into my neck, scraping, scraping with his fangs.  
"Imperious!" I hissed and called, "No, don't, Pam. Come in."

And before Eric could protest, she flung the door open and marched in. She looked me up and down: hair mussed, my old t-shirt bunched up around my stomach and one breast firmly in the clasp of a cold vampire hand.  
"Mmmm, _sexy_ ," she drawled in a tone that indicated that it was anything but.  
I stared at her and I couldn't help but smile. She was wearing a teal skirt and blazer that were a tad too tight to be suited to a business environment, and a cerise ruffled blouse with a strand of pearls. Her hair was tied up and she had cerise lipstick and matching nails. I couldn't see her shoes, but by her towering height I knew they were probably impressively high.  
"What are you looking at?" she sneered.  
I laughed. "You look like an Evil Soccer Mom," I said.  
Her lips twitched – the closest I had seen her get to a genuine smile of mirth – and she said to Eric, "I agree. She is amusing, your carrier."  
He gave my breast a small squeeze of approval. I yelped and smacked his hand away.  
"Forget about it," I snapped and he leaned back against his pillow, rolling his eyes in exasperation.  
"There you go," Pam said with one of her brittle smiles. "Prone to sulking. You were right, Magdalena, he _is_ a cat."

I filled Pamela in on the non-event that was Ilaria's disappearance. I expected her to make the same kind of "Oh,-well,-I'm-sure-she'll-turn-up" noises that the rest of us had made, but her brow furrowed and she looked unhappy.  
"This is not like Ilaria," she said. "Even if – especially if – she was in Moya's bad books, she wouldn't just disappear. I think something has happened to her, too. When are they going to officially declare her missing?"  
"If she doesn't turn up for work tonight, the Empress is going to tell Queen Catherine that one of her vampires has disappeared and then I guess they'll start a search. Stephen said he'd phone me when she turns up, so I'm basically just waiting for his call."  
I was sitting on the sofa, craning my head to look up at her. Pamela walked to and fro in front of the fireplace, anxiously pacing three or four steps, then turning and going back the way she came. I looked over at Eric: he was sitting at the far end of the couch, but one bare foot was resting against my thigh. He shrugged.  
"I've called her twice or thrice," Pam said, "And she hasn't answered. I should've known something was up. Are we going to go down to New Orleans to look for her?"  
"No one is going anywhere," Eric said. "For a start: we don't know if she's really missing yet. And, secondly, we're not welcome in New Orleans and there's not much we can do there anyway. So we will do nothing."  
"We could talk to the people who were at the bar," I suggested. "Maybe retrace her steps. Find the blond woman Stephen said she was speaking to."  
"If _only_ we had a telepath," Pam announced dramatically. "Someone who could read human thoughts and let us know what they were really thinking. _Imagine_ how that would _help_ our investigation"  
Eric frowned at her and shook his head in warning.  
"Yes, well, when we find a magic telepath, we'll put him in our unicorn carriage and take him with us down to New Orleans," I said crossly. "But in the meantime, what can we really do?"  
Eric stood up. Pam, bless her, was almost his height but he was used to being the authority in the room. In every room.  
"We will do nothing," he repeated. "If she's declared missing, they will look for her far more efficiently and effectively than we can do. We'll go to Fangtasia; I have to hold court there this evening and Maggie must be within sight at all times."  
He walked out of the room and I could hear him taking our jackets off the hooks in the hall. I looked at Pam and whispered, "If she doesn't turn up, I'm going to New Orleans."  
Pam nodded in agreement.

Empty, Fangtasia smelled of stale beer and spilled cocktails. When we arrived, the cleaning crew was just finishing up and Eric disappeared into the back office to make some calls. I helped Pam replace the chairs around the tables and then made myself useful by restocking the napkins and straws behind the bars, putting glasses into place and gathering empty bottles for the recycling bin. I worked fast: I'd spent my college years working behind a busy Dublin pub at weekends, so I knew the drill.  
Pamela was impressed and asked me if I wanted to take a shift behind the bar.  
"I don't know if I'm allowed to work over here," I said doubtfully. "I don't think I have the right visa for bar work."  
All of my paperwork had been handled by the Empress's vampire lawyers, but I'm pretty sure that no provision had been made for odd-jobbing in a friend's nightclub.  
She waved that away as thought it were entirely inconsequential. She gave me a quick introduction to their cash register system and showed me where they kept the ingredients for cocktails and the price lists.  
"You'll be fine," she said shortly. "I'll be on the door and Eric will be up there."  
"What did he mean by saying he had to hold court?" I asked curiously.  
Pamela narrowed her eyes. "Literally that. As sheriff, he has to arbitrate in vampire disputes, register newly-turned vamps, register vampires moved to his area, blah, blah, blah. A lot of paperwork. So they all come crawling in here once a month and Eric endures their whining and tries to come up with some Solomonian decision for all of their little tiffs and quarrels. Scintillating stuff. Still, he can eyeball you for a couple of hours while he's at it, and that might make it more bearable."  
She looked me over. "Except, of course, I don't think anyone would want to eyeball you looking like that."  
She tugged my top, another sensible tailored blouse that I'd worn at vampire meetings.  
"Come with me," she said, "And we'll see if we can fix you up."

Twenty minutes later, I was back behind the bar, looking like a Vampire Barbie Protegée. Pam had tried to persuade me to wear one of her corsets, but I begged off the idea. She found me a grass-green dress that probably came down to her mid-thigh but demurely ended at my knee. It had an inbuilt corset, so Pamela did get to lace me up after all, but the neckline was higher, showing only the swell of my white bosom and not, to Pam's disappointment, a vast expanse of chest flesh. The blond vampire looked at me for a couple of seconds then left the bathroom, returning with a chain and pendant in her hand. She tied it around my neck, shortening the chain so the pendant rested on my breasts. I picked it up and looked at it. It was a claw – God know from what.  
"It's Eric's," Pamela said by way of explanation. "It'll stop the other vampires from hitting on you."  
"Marking his territory?" I turned it over and then let it fall back into my cleavage. "Sure beats peeing on me like a dog, I suppose."  
"That might be a problem, given the health code and all," Pam remarked in her dry way. "But I'll be sure to suggest it to him for the next time."  
She used a huge brush to swirl my hair up and pinned it on the top of my head and then thrust her large makeup bag at me and told me to "do something about my face." Her bag was full of jet black eyeliners, pink lipstick and eyeshadows in a rainbow of shocking colours. I dabbed my face gingerly with her cosmetics and tried to imitate a bit of her style but the end result wasn't particularly successful. When I came out of the bathroom, she grabbed my elbow and steered me back inside, and rapidly worked on my face: dramatic eyeliner, sparkly eyeshadow and a lot of dark pink lipstick.  
"See?" she said in satisfaction. "Much better. _Now_ what's wrong?"  
Looking at our reflections in the mirror, I was reminded of Ilaria, my first visit to Fangtasia and her attempts to make me look more glamorous. I felt a bit wobbly thinking about my missing godmother.  
"Nothing," I said quietly.

Eric did a double-take when he walked past the bar.  
"Hi, sweetie!" I called and wriggled my fingers at him. This only made him look more perplexed and that made me laugh. The other two barmaids, Ginger and Evie, smirked and busied themselves with their tasks.  
"Are you and the boss, like, _together_?" Evie asked. She was younger than me: turned in her early twenties and only a vampire for three years, she was still just a baby. She was friendly and polite, slightly wary and territorial. She watched me serve the first few customers and I could see her assessing how well I was doing the job and whether it would affect how well she did hers.  
"Yes," I said shortly. No need to get into details.  
"Nice," she smiled and turned away. She was the type of girl who was complete: she had her own interests, her own friends, her own life. She was superficially sweet to me but I was essentially uninteresting to her, extraneous to her needs. In her world, I existed only as a bit-player and she felt no need to share anything beyond the briefest of niceties with me.

Ginger, on the other hand, felt the need to share everything. I quickly learned that I'd been strategically been placed between Ginger and Evie as a bulwark. While Evie calmly talked me through some of the bar routines, Ginger told me her life story. She smacked bottles of beer down on the bar, complaining in a theatrical whisper that was as loud as most people's speaking voices about what a bitch Evie was. Evie blithely ignored her and I tried to appear to be listening, but not listening too carefully in case Evie thought I had taken sides. My job was to be nice to both women and prevent them from killing each other. Gee, thanks, Pam.

The bar wasn't full; the human visitors were in the minority and a lot of the vampires were hanging around, waiting to talk to Eric. They placed themselves in front of me to be served, smelling my Coca-Cola-tainted blood (I'd had one or two), but their avaricious smiles faded when they noticed the pendant around my neck. However, the owner of the pendant barely seemed to notice what his human property was getting up to: Eric sat on the stage with his head inclined, listening to litany after litany of complaint or supplication. He spoke little and what he did say was often met with displeasure. But other than frown or pout, none of the visiting vampires seemed to dare argue with him.

Ginger caught me watching him as I served up a True Blood and a beer for the vampire customer's human companion.  
"You bin together long?" she asked conversationally. There was a temporary lull and all three of us were without customers. Evie was engaged in an animated conversation with a vampire she apparently knew, Ginger and I were leaning against one of the fridges, drinking another Coke.  
"Who? Eric and I? Not long," I said vaguely.  
"Yeah," she said, flicking a dishcloth, " _we_ used to be together once. Like, ages ago."  
She peeked up at me from under her fringe, trying to gauge my reaction. I smiled at her: Ginger was sweet but not terribly bright. I didn't want to even imagine the circumstances that brought her and Eric together: I simply couldn't imagine a more unlikely couple - but I didn't tell her that.  
"'Course," she continued, "I broke it off. Ain't no good when you work together. Know what I mean?"  
"I do," I said solemnly. "It's just too complicated."  
"Yeah," she said, her face brightening. "Me and Eric were _way_ complicated."  
I nodded sympathetically. "I get you," I said.  
"You're nice," Ginger said suddenly. "Some of the women he bin with are real bitches, know what I mean?"  
I admitted that I could imagine it somehow.  
"'Cept, of course, Sookie. She was okay, too, but she was a whole heap of trouble."  
Aha. The infamous Sucky.  
"What was she like?" I asked casually.  
Ginger sucked some air in through her teeth. "All the vamps were into her. She done all kinds of shit and they were all still crazy about her. I usedta think it was 'cause she was able to read minds and all, maybe she gave off some kind of vibe, like vampire catnip."  
"She was able to read minds?" I asked sharply.  
The little blond barmaid looked at me funnily. "You don't believe me, do you? But she really was a mindreader. A telly-path, or whatever they call it. I swear. You can ask Pam if you like."  
"I believe you," I said and mentally filed away this choice piece of information under 'Might Be Needed Later'. "Does she live in Shreveport?"  
"Oh, no," Ginger said, moving forward to the bar to serve a customer. "She lives out Renard Parish way, south of here. I forget the name of the place she lives in, I think it's one o' them Cajun names."  
"Does she ever come in here?"  
Ginger laughed. "No, no, I ain't see sight nor sign of her for years."  
 _Hmmm_ , I thought. _Interesting_.

I worked behind the bar till a huge guy called Devon took over. It was still quiet: Eric was working his way through the vampire visitors and the humans were slowly drifting home, even though it wasn't even midnight. I sat on a barstool and chatted with Ginger and Devon till Pam came in, announcing that it was a slow night and they were going to shut the bar early. The good citizens of Shreveport, vampire and human, apparently had better things to do on a freezing cold Monday night in December.  
Devon and Evie looked none too pleased and they both left quickly, leaving Ginger and me to close up the bar. Pam checked the registers and took out the cash, while Ginger ordered us a pizza. We weren't going anywhere till Eric was done and he was deep in earnest conversation with a trio of vampires, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the bar was now empty except for us. The oldest-looking of the three vampires was one I'd seen in New Orleans at the Queen's ball: he was a bit portly and his cheeks were - unusually for a vampire - a dull shade of pink. He had been prosperous, well-fed, in his human life and he continued to look prosperous and well-fed as a vamp. The other two vampires on stage looked like siblings: they both wore dreadlocks, the woman's were longer than the man's, but both had similar thin, long faces. Their skin was the colour of milky coffee, their eyes slightly slanted. They were a very striking couple and it bothered me for a minute why they seemed so familiar. Then I remembered: they reminded me of some of the famous Egyptian busts; the woman, with her long neck and raised chin, looked a bit like a vampire Nefertiti. As if they'd all heard me thinking about them, all four vampire faces turned to look at me. Eric raised a hand to signal that I should come on stage.

I took a seat beside him. I'd swerved to sit on a smaller chair on his left, but he'd indicated that I should sit on his right. Now sitting on a heavy wooden seat beside his, facing the other vamps, it occurred to me that there was something odd about our seating arrangement. Eric and I sitting side by side in those clunky wooden chairs, with the three vampire sitting opposite. I began to feel uneasy and uneasier still when the three of them stood up, bowed their heads and showed me the unbeating pulse on their left wrists as a gesture of respect. It was a very formal and outdated gesture that had even fallen out of fashion in Dublin, where vampire protocol had fossilised sometime back in the previous century.  
Eric took my hand and said, "This is Magdalena Maria Kennick, daughter of John Kennick, private secretary to Emperor Charles of Europe for many years, daughter of Anna Turner Kennick, who in turn was great-granddaughter of Olav Kandinkski, known as the protector of the Russian vampires. Magdalena is the granddaughter of Big Seán Kennick, who chaired the Second Council in 1922. Her great-grandfather was the known vampire killer Thomas Seán Kennick, who was married to and mated with Mary Elizabeth van Helsaig Kennick, the one who staked the Whore of Transylvania."  
He squeezed my hand and I instinctively knew he didn't want me to show any surprise at the depth of his research. I nodded solemnly at them.  
"And she is yours?" the dark vampire asked. His voice was low and deep, and he stared at me unblinkingly.  
"A blood bond has occurred," the portly one chimed in. "Hasn't it?"  
"It has," Eric said and raised my hand to his lips. He smiled at me, baring fang, and I smiled back, slightly unsure. "She is mine. And she is a true Kennick, a true carrier, the purist of all the Five Families."  
The two dreadlocked vampires looked at each other and I could tell they were holding some kind of private conversation in their head.

"We heed," the woman said finally. She stood and the other two did, too, so Eric and I stood as well. He continued to hold my hand in his, very firmly.  
"We take our leave, Sheriff Northman, and we note with interest what you have told us. It has been edifying," she finished. She turned to me. "We have been told that you may have been visited by one of the Queen's retinue. We will do our best to find out who it was and we shall ensure that you are not harmed by any of the Queen's court while you are here." She inclined her head in an almost regal way.  
"Thank you," I said and I meant it. I didn't know who she was - because vampires rarely felt the need to introduce themselves to humans, even ones with impressive bloodlines, like me - but I knew she was someone with influence. And probably a good deal of power.  
Eric and I saw them to the back door of the bar, out into the tiny parking lot where employees could park their cars. Pamela stood aside respectfully when they passed. They glided through the outer door and out into the night. Before they got into their car, the woman turned to us once more to say her parting words.  
"We will consider your proposal, Mr Northman," she said and then she directed a smile at me. "And we approve of your choice of consort."  
I stood in the doorway, flanked by Eric and Pam, a smile frozen on my face. His consort?  
We waited silently till their car pulled out of the car park and out of sight, then I turned to Eric, so many questions tripping off my tongue that I didn't know where to start.  
"Hey, there you are!" Ginger said. She stuck her head around the doorway. "You gotta hurry up, Maggie. Pizza's arrived and it's getting cold."  
"You should eat," Eric said, pushing me gently into the bar, "You're going to need your strength, Magdalena."


	16. Chapter 16

More smut contained here. Brace yourselves.

XVI

"Who was that?" I whispered to Eric when we went back into the bar.  
He nodded in Ginger's direction and said, "I'll tell you in the car."  
Then he withdrew into his office to talk to Pam, leaving me and Ginger to that most revolting human activity: eating. We polished off the pizza quite quickly, even though Ginger barely let me get a word in edgeways, eating and talking at speed. She told me how she'd come to be at Fangtasia and shared bits of gossip about the regulars and the people who worked there. In turn, I asked her about some of the rumours that had made their way across the Atlantic about Louisiana vamps and their former king, a vampire called Compton. But the barmaid just clamped her mouth shut, as though she was physically trying to stop herself from answering my questions.  
"You best ask Eric about that," she said. "Them two were friends."  
Eric Northman had a buddy? Hard to imagine him hanging out with another vampire, clinking bottles of True Blood and watching football on the telly. Still, you'd never know.

At that moment, Eric swooped back in, registered the empty pizza box with a grimace of distaste and asked if I was ready to go. I was.  
I had barely buckled my seatbelt when I wriggled around in my seat to ask who the visiting vampires were.  
"That was the King of the Islands," he said.  
"The one with the dreadlocks?" I asked. "The _man_?"  
He'd pretty much been in the background the entire time, I'd barely noticed him except in the shadow of his more enigmatic and magnetic sibling.  
"Yes, of course the man," Eric said, amused. "The title kind of gives it away."  
"Who was the woman, then?" I asked.  
He looked over at me. "Didn't you have a lesson on the King of the Islands at Vampire School?" he asked. I shouldn't have told him about our familiarization course, I thought.  
"Yes," I said. "He's the king of one of vampiredom's oldest and most influential territories. The islands of the West Indies, the Caribbean, are as important to vampire lore and history as New Orleans on the mainland."  
See? I'd learned the script off by heart.  
"The King of the Islands," I continued, "is Pierre Salvant, he was turned some time in the 17th century and he has ruled since the end of the 18th century. How's that?"  
" _Brava_ ," Eric said. "But who turned him?"  
I racked my brains. I knew this one. "A vampire called Nanette," I said slowly. The details were fuzzy, but a light went on in my head: "That was his maker, wasn't it? The woman who looks like his sister?"  
"That's correct," said Eric, checking his rear-view mirror before turning, "And she's not his sister, she's his mother."  
"His _mother_?" It came out as a squeak. "A mother turned her own _child_?"  
"She was turned when he was just a baby. A quarter of a century later, she returned and turned him. She has guided him ever since."  
I took a couple of seconds to process that. "It sounds like the ultimate Oedipal Complex," I said. "Bound to your mum for eternity."  
Eric nodded. "Yup," he said shortly.  
"And what were they doing at Fangtasia?"

Even as I watched him, I could see the thoughts in his head being censored and selected for communication. I hadn't known him long but it sometimes felt that I could see his thought processes flit across his face.  
"They were sent to me," he said carefully. "By Queen Catherine. She knows we've known each other for a long time because Nanette and my maker were companions for a century. So she knows they respect my opinion on vampire matters. She asked me to speak to them about the Charter."  
"Speak to them about the Charter?" I was beginning to sound like a very squeaky echo. "Are you working for Catherine? What did you say to them? What about your agreement with Ilaria? With _us_?"  
Eric took a deep breath. "Remember the night of the ball? Remember I was summoned to Catherine's room?"  
I did. Vaguely.  
"Well, she told me to watch you and see what you were communicating to Dublin. I was also charged with trying to influence you against the Charter – you know, subtly talk about how dangerous it is and what a bad idea it is, in general – and to use my influence on other vampires to the same end."  
I was outraged. I mean, that's exactly what _we'd_ asked Eric to do, but I didn't realize he was going to end up being … being a double agent. I spluttered in indignation, trying to find the words I needed.  
"So what did you say to them?" I asked finally. "What did you tell the island vampires?"  
"The truth," he answered simply. "I said that the Charter in and of itself was an inevitable step in our social evolution and that it would eventually be of use to our own. But in the immediate future it would result in far more control and micromanaging and even more moronic paperwork than we currently have."  
"Are you _serious_?" I hissed. "One of the world's most important vampire leaders comes to you – to _you_ , God knows why – for a second opinion on a matter that is of utmost importance to your kind and you diss it because there'll be more … more _bureaucracy_? You'd rather have widespread defanging than some more paperwork? Are you effing _kidding_ me?"  
"I hardly expect you to understand, Magdalena," he said in a haughty tone. "Did you not see what I had to do tonight? Every stupid vampire supplication has to be written up, filed and submitted to the monarch. I spend ten minutes listening to some idiot whine about another idiot feeding on his human and I have to spend 30 minutes filling out an online template reporting what was said, who said and what was done. Things were a hundred times more efficient when we just took care of stuff they it had to be taken care of. No questions asked. No paperwork and no paper trail."  
"And there was often total anarchy," I cried. "Lynching. Guerilla warfare. Vampires disappearing without a trace. That's why things changed in Europe. We've been following the principles of this Charter for a century and it works. We are the proof that it works."  
"Don't be silly," Eric said coldly. "You think it works and your rulers pretend it works. Do you think the Old Emperor never took matters into his own hands? Of course he did. Charles was notorious for getting things 'fixed'. That's what he called it: fixing things. Things got fixed, no questions got asked. The difference between you and us is that we do our fixing openly. You Europeans do it underhandedly."  
"That's not true," I said, but they were words I could not be sure of. The Old Emperor had been venerated and much loved, but how was I to know what happened behind the scenes during his reign?

Eric shrugged in a way that said _Whatever_ and that infuriated me more.  
"So I take it you think the Charter is just a heap of bullshit?" I asked.  
He shrugged again. So help me, I wanted to push him right out of the moving car.  
"Like I said to Pierre Salvant, it is an inevitable step, but it will not be to our immediate advantage. Anyone who thinks otherwise is stupid."  
He pulled up in front of his house.  
"So you think I'm stupid?" I demanded. But he didn't get a chance to answer. Three men stepped into the car's headlights and my breath caught in my throat.  
I relaxed again when I saw it was Troy Knight and two other men. I looked for TJ when I got out of the car, but there was no sign of him. Eric stopped to talk to them and I heard Troy begin, "We looked long and hard for a scent but we didn't find anything of use – " before realizing that I had missed them in their werewolf form. The disappointment added to my anger and I let myself into Eric's house without waiting around to hear what they had to say.

Stomping up the stairs, my telephone rang. It was Stephen.  
"Please tell me you have good news," I begged.  
"I don't," he answered, subdued. "She's officially been registered as missing and the police have been notified. There will probably be something about her in the media in the next few days. I don't suppose you've heard anything, have you?"  
"No," I said and I started to cry. I hated crying: I rarely cried out of sadness, but I often cried when every other emotion joined force and they all surged up and overwhelmed me. It made me feel weak. No, stupid. It made me feel _stupid_ – something Eric Northman had already established I was.  
"Don't cry," Stephen said in alarm and I could hear the panic in his voice. "Don't cry, Maggie. Listen, I'm going to get into my car now and I'll be there in three or four hours. Just before dawn, ok?"  
"You won't make it before dawn," I said. "It's all right, Stephen. I've just had a tough few days and I guess I just needed to let it out. I'm fine, I really am. I'm just worried about her."  
"It'll be okay," he said. "I promise you. We'll find her, we'll fix it."  
Fix it. Damned vampires and their fixing.

I was sitting up in my bed with only the bedside lamp on, scrolling through friends' Facebook posts and reading about normal lives going on in a normal parallel universe that I was no longer part of. Christmas trees were going up. Friends were fretting about that availability of Hatchimals for their kids (I'm sorry: what? I really needed to catch up). Pictures of carol services and work parties were being posted. And I was sitting on a vampire's spare bed in a far away country, worrying about a missing friend.

When Eric knocked on the door half an hour later, I didn't say anything, fully expecting him to barge in anyway. But he didn't. He waited silently outside till I eventually said, "Come in."  
I continued to scroll through my Facebook feed, head down, so he wouldn't see my blotchy face and red nose.  
He cleared his throat – which he physically didn't need to do, just a token human gesture.  
"I presume Ilaria Moore has not turned up," he said.  
"You presume correctly. She has officially been reported missing."  
I continued to scroll, trying to ignore him.  
"Magdalena," he said finally. And paused. "Magdalena, I beg your pardon."  
"Okay," I said briefly.  
"I didn't mean to imply you were stupid. You're not. You're very clever."  
"Yeah, I'm sure you think so."  
"I do," he said earnestly. "You have never struck me as dumb. On the contrary, I think you are very smart. I have read some of your papers: you're good. Your instincts are good, your research is thorough and you write well."  
Now that surprised me. I'd written a couple of academic papers about some of the carbon-dating research being done on a number of swords at our museum and other museums in the British Isles, mostly Viking-era blades. It was a very special-interest topic but, I realized, probably of special interest to the Viking in front of me.  
"Okay," I said again. "Fine. Good night."  
He lingered, still and silent in that infuriating vampire way. A human would have the decency to fidget and feel awkward; a vampire just stands there and wears you down with their ability to imitate a statue. I finally looked up at him with a frown.

He approached the bed, one step, two steps. I narrowed my eyes in warning.  
"I'm hungry," he said.  
"You have a fridge," I said. "Open it up and look inside. My blood was offered in return for you doing your best to influence opinion in favour of the Charter, something you are absolutely _not_ doing, so I consider the deal to be off."  
"You're very brave," he said casually, "Acting as though you had a say in the matter."  
I hopped out of the bed, a virtually ineffectual move as it only served to emphasise how much smaller I was than him. But I shook my finger at his chest.  
"I really do not appreciate these veiled threats." I didn't have to affect a warning tone; I was rattled and my voice barely rose above a snarl.  
Eric looked at me, motionless, and then did a complete _volte-face_.  
"You're right. I would not take your blood without your permission," he said humbly.  
He took one step closer and extended a hand.  
"Do you accept my apology?" he said. Suspecting a trick, I eyed his hand suspiciously. He just turned his hand a little, palm upwards, in a beseeching way. Slowly, I stretched my right hand out and we shook.  
"Apology accepted," I said, as his large, cold hand took my warm fingers in his.

A shock ran up my arm, like a surge of electricity. I felt his blood pulse – which was ridiculous, he wasn't alive; he had no pulse. But something pulsed, as though my blood had become his, and a little jolt went through me, down to my inner core.  
"Do you feel that?" he said.  
"What is it?" I asked.  
"We are blood bonded," he said. "Your blood responds to mine. When you feel bad, I feel it. I feel worse when I've caused you to feel that way. I am sorry."  
I stared at our hands, mine almost invisible in his.  
"I am sorry for calling you stupid," he said. "And I would like to feed from you because I miss your blood already. I like it when you are near me, I want to be in a bed with you. That's the truth, the bare truth."  
His face wore its habitually guarded expression, and I could tell he was trying to gauge my reaction, ready to pull away if I pushed him. Instead, it made me feel stupidly teary-eyed again. It was probably the most honest thing anyone had said to me in days.

"Very well," I said, and I put my other hand up to pat his cheek. He rubbed his face against my palm, pressing his jaw against me. He really had the instincts of a large cat.  
I slipped into bed and he shed his clothes. He had no sense of self-consciousness or embarrassment – these were human emotions. Our bodies are a source of constant critique and worry to us; vampires see theirs as a vessel or a tool. Male, female, naked, clothed - they don't really make a big deal of it, it's a body, they've seen hundreds of them. They grow, they develop, they age, they decay. Nudity? What of it?

I, on the other hand, was raised in a very chilly country where people are generally not naked for kicks and laughs, so I was back in my fleecy pyjama bottoms and my old t-shirt, with the blanket pulled up to my neck. I watched him quickly fold his clothes – my goodness, he was neat – and admire him. Actually, I _ogled_ him. Eric was long-limbed, with big hands, long feet and big …. other bits. I blushed and pulled the blanket up a bit higher. He was not thin, but his body was tightly muscled. When he bent to move his shoes out of the way, muscles rippled in all kinds of places I could barely bear to look at. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the bed depress as he slipped in beside me. A hand slipped across my stomach and up to my breast – this was starting to become its favourite resting place, I thought – and he nuzzled his nose against my ear. I turned on my side to face him, exposing my neck to him and waiting for the click of his fangs, but he continued to rub against my face, his fingers stroking my back and down to my bottom. He kissed me gently.  
"Can we go back to the start of the night?" he whispered. "Before Pam barged in?"  
"Very well," I whispered back. He pulled my shirt up a little.  
"This is where we were before we got interrupted, right?"  
"I think so," I said.  
He tugged my shirt over my head – or, at least, he tried, but he tugged with a bit too much enthusiasm and his knuckles made contact with my jaw, knocking my teeth together with a _clack_.  
"Sorry, sorry," he said apologetically, as my head emerged from the knot of clothing.  
"No worries," I muttered and tossed my shirt on the floor. He started kissing me, pushing me back against the bed, running his hands up and down my body, teasing and stroking and rubbing and exploring. I tried to respond appropriately, but there were a lot of limbs and fingers banging about: at one point he tried to dip down to kiss my breasts and ended up kneeing my shins. I bit back a cry but he noticed my discomfort and came back up, so we were face to face.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concerned. He leaned on his side, head resting on his elbow and lazily stroked my shoulders and breasts. It tickled. I wriggled out from under his hand.  
"You're just very … big," I said. I tried to make it sound non-accusatory but I don't know if I succeeded.  
His lips twitched a little. "I can go really slowly," he murmured.  
"No, not _that_ bit." I blushed a bit: _that_ bit was big, too. "The whole lot of you. There's just an awful lot of arms and legs in a relatively small space."  
He laughed and, leaning forward, he managed to pin my hair under his elbow, causing my eyes to start with tears of pain.  
"Ow!" I yelped.  
"Sorry," he said, startled and moved away from me in fright.

I rubbed my scalp.  
"Maybe we're just not sexually compatible," I said dolefully. "Our physical relationship seems to be doomed. We could just be platonic friends. Share recipes, go to musicals. Shop for shoes together."  
"I think you need a girl friend," Eric said. "Or a gay friend. But I don't think I can fulfil these needs."  
He pulled me closer, so we lay chest to chest, his groin pressed against my thighs, my feet dangling below his knees. His body was cold and I couldn't help but shiver. He drew the blanket up around my shoulders but he still chilled me.  
"Maybe I need more of your blood," I suggested. It had worked the last time: I'd been totally off my rocker and as jolly as Santa Claus.  
"I'd rather not feel that we could only enjoy each other when you were rendered blood-drunk," he said.  
Fair enough.  
"Have you dreamt of me?" he enquired, but I shook my head. He paused delicately. "Have you … fantasized about me?"  
"No," I said, trying to be nonchalant. It wasn't really a lie. I hadn't fantasized; I'd _speculated_.  
"Have _you_ fantasized about _me_?"  
"Of course," he returned quickly.  
"What, then?" I asked boldly, one of those questions that slip off your lips, leaving you already dreading the answer.  
Eric shifted a little so he could look at my face. "I imagined what it would be like to call you up on stage in Fangtasia and have you kneel between my legs."  
He watched me picturing this in my head and continued, "Then you would take me in your mouth…"  
Said mouth dropped open a little.  
"… and take everything I have to give you."  
He stroked the hair back from my face and a fingertip brushed my lips.  
I gulped and turned my back on him, so he wouldn't feel the heat on my cheeks. He just gave a low, husky laugh into my hair and pressed up against me. He was hard and suddenly, my insides were molten.

I moved against him, allowing him access to between my legs. Very, very gently he pushed inside and I grabbed a fistful of the pillow and squeezed it tight. Good grief. Fireworks exploded in my body.  
"Breathe," he whispered. "You are not vampire."  
I exhaled the breath I didn't know I'd held and moved beneath him.  
"Look," he said in a low voice and pointed across the room. By the dim light of the bedside lamp, I could see our reflections in the dressing table mirror. He flung off the blanket, exposing our tangle of pale limbs, then looked at reflected me with a gaze of intent, of purpose, moving faster and faster. I endured it as long as I could, then a guttural noise escaped my throat and I just surrendered to my pleasure. He gasped – I swear, he gasped – then gave three, four quick thrusts before I felt his coldness spill inside me.  
"Good," he said, his voice a croak. He kissed my neck, my jaw, then I turned my head and he kissed my lips.  
"Very good," I agreed and he grinned.

We lay on the bed in a mess of sheets. Eric leaned over and I knew what he wanted: I pulled my hair aside, but he raised my arm and sank his fangs into the crook of my elbow. He lay his head on my stomach and licked the wound, then rolled off and pulled me up against him.  
"Dawn is coming," he said. "Will you spend the day with me in my room?"  
"Part of the day," I promised. "I need to call TJ and buy some things in town."  
"You're going to need to buy some vitamins," he said, rubbing his stubbly chin against my shoulder, "Ask a pharmacist. They do fangbanger mixes, with all the extra vitamins you're going to need."  
Yup, I most certainly was _not_ going to ask a pharmacist. I was going to sneak into a drugstore and skulk up and down the aisles till I found them, then pay for them with a hat pulled down over my face.  
Eric rose from the bed and stuck out a hand, pulling me out behind him. We padded, naked, down the hall to his room, where he pulled me into the shower. We soaped each other down very thoroughly and, well, tested a couple of new (to me) and very dangerous (wet, slippery tiles) positions, then put on our nightclothes and slipped into the bed. Eric was gone within seconds: his face relaxed and settled into a statue-like countenance and he was absolutely still.  
"Eric?" I whispered, but he did not reply. His body was there, but his consciousness was gone.

I lay in the bed and enjoyed aching in places that hadn't ached in a while. After a while I got up and fetched my phone from my room, thinking I might read a little while until I was calm enough to sleep. But when I picked it up, I saw the blue light flashing that indicated I had a message. It was from Pam.  
 _Would like to talk to you. Don't tell Eric. Let me know when you've finished banging and I'll come by._  
It was still dark, but it would not be long before dawn so I texted her back and told her to come immediately, then put on a sweatshirt, socks and shoes and went downstairs to wait for her.

She must've been nearby, because her car drew up outside the door just minutes later. She waved at me through the window and indicated that I should come out to her. I shivered before I even opened the door, darting down Eric's driveway in the darkness, flinging myself into the warm car as quickly as I could.  
"So," she said, "I hope you had a fun time. He's quite talented."  
I felt the blush rising again. Stupid Celtic skin.  
"Anyway," she said briskly, "I rang Hofmann and he told me Ilaria's disappearance has been reported to the police. I tried to get as much information from him as I could about the night she disappeared but he just said she'd been chatting with some blond human and that was the last he saw of her. I, however, have a number of theories about what may have happened."  
"I'm all ears," I said.  
Pamela raised a finger, its long nail was no longer cerise but a classic blood-red.  
"One: she was kidnapped by drainers. She's very old and her blood would be valuable. There are a couple of gangs operating in and around New Orleans and Baton Rouge and they probably didn't realize how well-connected she was. More fool them, then, taking one of the Empress' retainers."  
"Okay," I said. "That's one possibility."  
"Two," Pam continued, another finger up, "one of Catherine's people abducted her and possibly killed her by accident, or she got killed in the skirmish. They might have been trying to persuade her to give them information about the Empress' motives and who Moya will be in league with when the summit starts."  
I nodded. I wouldn't put it past Queen Catherine. She was that kind of ruthless.  
"And, finally, three: one of your own people killed her. I don't know why: a jealous fight? Too many piglets at the trough, all vying for the top position in Moya's retinue? Or maybe – "  
Pam stopped and looked at me, hesitant. "Maybe it was punishment for letting you besmirch yourself with the infamous Eric Northman. After all, you'd been promised as tribute to the King of the Islands and now you're worthless to the Empress because you belong to another vampire. A vampire that none of her entourage particularly like, if Stephen Hofmann is to be believed."  
"One or two," I said firmly. "The Empress' people constitute a pretty tight-knit bunch. They don't go around stabbing each other in the back. And having someone take Ilaria out, Mafia-style is just so not Moya. This is the woman who's campaigning to introduce open trials for vamp on vamp crime, for crying out loud."  
Pamela stared at me, probably trying to figure out how much I believed what I'd said. But here's the thing: I believed it from the bottom of my heart. It just didn't make sense that one of our group would do her any harm.

"Well then," she said, "Someone needs to get down to New Orleans and start talking to people. I'd begin in that vampire restaurant that they were in and I'd take it from there. If she was talking to a human, it might've been someone that worked there, or another guest. One of the servers might remember something."  
"So you want me to go?" I said. "You know Eric won't allow it. And he won't go with me."  
It wasn't an argument I even wanted to have with him. I didn't want to test how far he would go to prevent me from setting off for New Orleans. The outcome of that argument was too unpredictable and I felt nervous about even broaching it, a situation that made me feel uncomfortable. It made a lot of alarm bells ring, but still on a post-sex high, I ignored them.  
"I know," she said simply. "He can be very stubborn. Sometimes it's best to work around him, rather than try to go through him. I'll book three seats on a flight to New Orleans for the day after tomorrow, leaving early. Tell TJ he'll be escorting you for the day, no need to tell Eric, I'll pick up the tab. You spend the day there, find out as much as you can and don't tell any of the Empress's lackeys that you're in the city. Fly under the radar and try to retrace Ilaria's steps. While you're down there, text Eric and tell him you're going shopping with me at sundown. There's a flight back at 6 pm and I'll pick you up at the airport, and we can head straight to the bar. I'll go shopping for us both so we have something to show him when I get back."  
"What about Fangtasia?" I asked.  
"Devon will come in early, he wants some extra shifts."  
Sounded possible. Sounded do-able. But there was just one thing.  
"You'll be booking seats for me, TJ … and who's the third person?" I asked, counting us off on my fingers.  
Pam bit her lip. "I think you'll need to take Sookie," she said.


	17. Chapter 17

XVII

„Is it a sin to be tempted?" Sookie Stackhouse blurted out. She was standing in front of Fr Cafferty, his chicken and dumplings in one hand and a cold beer in another. Once a week the Catholic priest came into Arlene's and ordered the exact same thing off the menu. He sat in the same corner booth with three or four gardening magazines or a book from the library about orchids or deciduous trees and slowly cleared his plate, engrossed in the photos of blooms and parasites.

He looked up at her, blinking. Instead of wondering why she was so weird or why she was asking such a strange question, Fr Cafferty was actually thinking about his answer. That's why Sookie liked him. His thoughts were never mean or mean-spirited: when he entered the bar he had something good in his head about everyone: _Oh, look, there's Jane, so glad she's not drinking too much today_ when he saw Jane Bodehouse holding up the bar, a glazed look on her face. Or _It's_ _so nice to hear young people celebrating life!_ when Jason and his friends were whooping and yelling about some filthy joke or football result. When Sookie served his table, he thought nice things about her: he was glad she was serving his section, what a sweet smile. What a polite girl. Her grandmomma would be so proud.  
Sookie was always extra nice to him and his opinion of her only escalated, something she would've known from the broad smile on his face, even if she weren't able to read his thoughts.

"Is it a sin to be tempted?" he repeated, removing his thick glasses so he could rub his eyes. "I'm not sure it's a sin to be tempted, Sookie, but it sure is a sin to _give in_ to that temptation. Does that make sense?"  
"It does," Sookie said, and straightened up the napkin dispenser. "Enjoy your meal, Father."

What she didn't tell Fr Cafferty was that the previous day she'd had a fight with her husband about – of all things – socks. She'd told him time and time again to make sure little Adele wore those socks with the rubber soles. Sookie'd driven into Shreveport especially to buy them because she knew the little one ran everywhere and slipped often on the wooden floors of the old Stackhouse home. Adele, they joked, had learned to run before she could walk. Small for her two years, she darted from room to room like a blond will-o'-the-wisp, overcoming any unsteadiness on her chubby legs by simply propelling forward, forward, till she landed in someone's arms or on her little butt. But Luke kept forgetting to put on the socks – claiming he could never find a pair, they were always in the wash, Adele was always taking them off and hiding them – and yet he was surprised when the little girl had slipped mid-flight in her stocking feet and whacked her head off the hardwood floor.

A fight had a ensued; a rare fight, mind you, but all the more heated for its rarity. Sookie waited till Adele had returned to her previous good spirits, then she'd picked up her keys and driven off at a higher speed than necessary, the wheels of her little yellow car spitting up gravel stones in protest. She drove all the way into Shreveport, bought a dozen pairs of those stupid socks, even though she knew Adele would grow out of them faster than all twelve pairs could be worn. But she felt like flinging them into Luke's face and for that dramatic gesture, she needed a lot of them. She also treated herself to a new nail polish (she might've been able to afford a manicure if she hadn't spent all of her money on toddler socks) and just before she got into her car to go home, she bought a big chocolate milkshake that she knew she wouldn't be able to finish – but what the heck. Today was a day for grand gestures.

And so she drove home. Kind of. As though she had no power over her finger, it hit the indicate switch at the turn off to Fangtasia. She drove the familiar route as if she were remotely controlled: she knew what she was doing but she didn't want to think about it. She sat in potholed parking lot on a chilly Monday morning, staring at the door of the bar, sucking her chocolate milkshake through the plastic straw.  
"What are you doing here, Sookie?" she'd asked but she had no answer for herself. The place was deserted; Ginger wouldn't come by to open up till mid-afternoon. And it wasn't like Eric was going to walk out that door, stride over to the car, yank open the door and take her in his arms in the weak light of a grey December day.

She stirred her milkshake. And what would she do if, by some miracle, Eric Northman came bounding out of Fangtasia, with that determined look on his face, a hand outstretched to touch her? Sookie thought about it and came to the conclusion she always came to: she wouldn't take his hand. She'd thought about it every which way and every time she came to the same realization. She loved Luke. She loved their daughter. She loved the other one that was probably on the way. She loved her life, the light, the sunshine, the days spent chasing a little girl around the garden, shopping for groceries with her baby on her hip. She'd spent years complaining about how her life seemed to rocket from one crisis, one danger, to the next and now she was in a cocoon of warmth and security, surrounded by people who loved her. Exactly what she'd always wanted. She'd changed her mobile phone number and had only given it to her closest of friends; not because she was afraid Eric might ring her, but because she was afraid she might, in a moment of darkest despair, ring him. Rather than make a stupid mistake that might ruin everything she'd built for herself, ruin her marriage, mar her daughter's young life, she just removed a temptation so she wouldn't have to deal with the possibility of being tempted by it.

And yet, every now and again, she allowed herself to drive to Fangtasia – always by daylight, always in the morning – and sit in the car park and just miss him and miss the life she used to have, crises, danger and all. They'd had no contact for years and Eric had never made any attempt to come by the house or seek her out. She was at once both glad and somehow a little bereft.

Sookie drank a little more milkshake, then shoved it into a cup holder and started the car. She drove home, this time with no more stops or detours. Luke met her on the porch with Adele in his arms, her hair fuzzy from her midday nap. Her husband and daughter watched her climb out of the car and she felt a smile break across her face when she saw their identical grins of delight.  
"Momma! Momma!" Adele shouted.  
"I'm home, baby!" Sookie called and a wave of relief washed over her. She'd made the right choice, she was sure. She was always sure. "And wait till you see what your crazy Momma bought!"

Was it a sin to be tempted? No, it wasn't. Was it a sin to give into temptation? Yes, it was. But what if you went right up to the very edge of that temptation and then ran away before anything happened? Sookie didn't know if she could ask Fr Cafferty that. She didn't want to hear what he would think of her if she pushed his theological boundaries with her crazy-ass questions.

Sookie normally didn't do the afternoon shift any more because she liked to be home to put Adele to bed. Finishing at six meant that she didn't get home in time to give her a bath and tuck her in. But Arlene had been so desperate, she'd made an exception. One of the waitresses had broken her arm falling off a horse, the other one was gone to her grandmother's funeral in Baton Rouge, she would pay Sookie double-time if necessary.  
"It's not necessary," Sookie lied. She could've plenty done with that money but she didn't want to exploit her friend's bad fortune. So Arlene had given her the best section, up front, where people went when they were out celebrating or where tourists sat if they erred off the beaten track and ended up in Bon Temps. As a result, Sookie had a good view of the door at all times, so she saw Ginger immediately when she walked in, the late afternoon sunlight making a halo of her blond hair.  
"Ginger?" Sookie said, watching her look around tentatively. The other woman's face lit up and she began broadcasting thoughts of relief and delight.  
 _So glad she's here working tonight don't know if I wanted to spend my afternoon driving around Hicksville has she put on weight? Maybe she's got another bun in the oven... Is that her second or her third?_

"Sookie!" Ginger cried and wrapped her up in a hug. Behind her there was a young man and a woman Sookie's age. The man was clearly two-natured, probably a were, possibly one of the young ones from Alcide's former pack. His thoughts were snarled and foggy but his main focus was wondering about the food they served. The woman was odd: she had long coppery-coloured hair that had, at some point in the day, started out pinned up on the top of her head, but now her hair hung in loose waves around her face. She had pale skin, which was only emphasized by the fact that she was wearing black: a black top, wide black pants and black heels. She wore no jewellery except a plain watch and a chain around her neck, the bottom of which was tucked underneath her shirt. Sookie thought she looked like a teacher. No, a university professor: edgy and smart, the way those women on the TV were when they came on to talk about feminism and gender equality and the rest of that stuff that no one in Bon Temps had a clue about. When Sookie tuned into her thoughts, she was met with a wave of gibberish. She continued to smile and nod at Ginger, who was still talking about Fangtasia and their new décor and the guy Pam had hired to do it, but in the meantime the red-haired woman stared at her, broadcasting in a language Sookie did not speak.

"Who are your friends?" she asked Ginger.  
"This is TJ," Ginger said and smiled at him coquettishly. "He works for Eric."  
"And how is Mr Northman?" Sookie asked coolly.  
"He's fine," Ginger said. "Same as ever, I guess. But maybe you should ask her: this is his girlfriend, Maggie."  
Sookie felt as though she'd been punched in the chest and instantly the other woman thought,  
 _Ah, fuck, Ginger. Why did you have to go and say that?  
_ "Nice to meet you," Sookie said brightly. "Any friend of Eric is a friend of mine. And what can I get y'all?"  
"A booth," TJ said. "I think we're going to eat."  
"Actually," the redhead said, "we were wondering if we might have a word with you?"  
She had a foreign accent. Sookie thought it might be English or Scottish.  
"Are you British?" she asked.  
"I'm Irish," the other woman answered. She stood aside, allowing Ginger to slide into the seat of the booth. She took a step closer to Sookie and lowered her voice, "Pam told me that you're part _sidh_."  
"Part she?" Sookie repeated, not comprehending.  
"Part _sidh_ ," Maggie said. " _Sidh_ : fae, the old people."  
Her face was hopeful, hesitant. Sookie stared at her and Eric's girlfriend started to transmit: _I know you're a telepath. I guess you don't know the old ways, do you? I'm sorry, we were always told we had to address the sidh in Old Gaelic and I'm really crap at it and I always forget the greetings and everything. I'm babbling now, sorry about that. It must be hard to listen to this kind of verbal diarrhoea all the time._

"It's okay," Sookie said out loud. "I'll be finished at six and I have a few minutes to talk then. Why don't y'all order something first and when you're done, we can talk."  
She handed them menus and took their drinks orders. While she was at the bar, waiting for Darius to pour the drinks, Sookie couldn't help but stare at Eric's new woman. How long had they been together? Had they shared blood? Did he love her? Did she love him? She was pretty, sure, she had a confidence about her that a lot of women in Bon Temps didn't have. Sookie tried to imagine Eric with her. They probably talked about all kinds of smart things, like history. Opera. Shakespeare. Stuff he always liked and Sookie always hated.

Over the noise of the other patrons, she tried to tune into the Maggie woman's thoughts, but it was hard. She was shielding, purposely trying not to think of anything. Her thoughts were deliberately focused on the menu ( _What's catfish? And what on earth is crawfish?_ ) and the décor of the bar ( _I love the Christmas lights! The decorations are so sweet!_ ). Sookie was just about to tune back out when the woman thought, _I wonder if Eric celebrates Christmas. Or Yule. Maybe I should get him a big ol' tree and deck it out with really kitschy decorations, just to annoy him.  
_ And Sookie watched a grin spread across the woman's face as she contemplated the Viking's discomfort with a great big Christmas tree in his living room. Somehow, it made Sookie more unsure about how she felt about her – because that's the kind of relationship she would've wanted with Eric, teasing him, pushing his boundaries, trying to shake up his implacable façade. The Irishwoman was obviously not one of the fawning fangbangers that he picked up at the foot of his throne and Sookie didn't know if she liked her more because of it (Eric had finally found someone brave enough to take him on and was more likely to be serious about her) or less (he's found someone brave enough to take him on and was more likely to be serious about her.)

She served their food and came back to clear the plates away. Ginger and TJ decided to go up to the bar for a few drinks, a decision that tactfully left the redhead alone in the booth. Sookie gave her the check, which she paid with a generous tip, then returned to sit with her. She slid in opposite her so they could talk face to face.  
"How's Eric?" Sookie asked. Maggie shrugged.  
"Fine, all things considered. There's a big vampire summit happening in a couple of weeks and Eric is not involved in it, yet has somehow managed to be in the middle of things at the same time."  
"Sounds like the same old Eric," Sookie said. "What brings you here? Why are you looking for me?"  
"Pam told me about you," she said hesitantly and Sookie knew from her flashed, fractured thoughts that Pam had told her all about Sookie. Far more than she would want any stranger to know and the other woman knew this. She was embarrassed.  
"An old friend of Pamela, my godmother, went out in New Orleans on Saturday night, Sunday morning. She disappeared and hasn't been heard from since. Her companions say she'd been talking to some human woman when they left. In the meantime we know that the woman worked at the bar, she was carrying a bag with their logo. The police interviewed her and she said that they just walked out the door together and she pointed Ilaria in the direction of the taxi stand before they parted ways. But Ilaria didn't return to the hotel. There's CCTV footage of her leaving the restaurant with a blond woman but that's it, she literally disappears without a trace."  
"So you want me to go with you down to New Orleans to find the blond woman and see what she knows?"  
"Yes," Maggie said. _Yes, please. Please, please help me,_ she thought.  
"Pam says she'll pay you generously. She's already provisionally booked you a flight tomorrow; we'd fly down in the morning and be back in the early evening. We just have to visit the restaurant as soon as it opens in the morning and ask around. That's all."  
"Any time I have ever worked with vampires, for vampires – heck, _near_ vampires," Sookie said, "it has ended in disaster. Real, messy disaster. I have a family now, a husband. A child. I don't want to dip my toes back into their shit again."  
"I understand," Maggie said, "but we'll be travelling by day, there'll be no vampires, just you and me and TJ. And he's really nice and sweet, I swear."  
"And what does Eric think about this?" Sookie asked. Maggie looked uncomfortable.  
"He doesn't know?" cried Sookie, reading her thoughts. "Why doesn't he know?"

And then the red-haired woman told her the entire story, a story that began with an absconding husband in Dublin and ended with a missing vampire in New Orleans.  
"So you're living in Eric's house – " Sookie felt a pang. She'd never even been to Eric's house. "– pretending you guys are, like, vampire-married and now you want to go back to New Orleans without his knowledge to look for this Ilaria person?"  
Maggie considered it and suddenly Sookie understood that she and Eric weren't just pretending to have a relationship; something really was going on between them, but the Irishwoman didn't know herself what it was.  
"That's it," she said. "We're going to lie by omission. We just won't tell him what we're planning to do or later on what we got up to. It's none of his business, anyway."  
And suddenly Sookie got a wave of feistiness from her. "And if he finds out and he's pissed off, _I'll_ deal with him," she added. "I'll tell him where to go jump off."  
Sookie didn't doubt that she would.  
"I have to discuss it with my husband," she said, "and if he's okay with it, he can look after my daughter, Adele. I'm not crazy about the idea but I sure could do with the money, so you tell Pam that I'll accept whatever she offers plus thirty per cent."  
"Fine," Maggie said, delighted. "Her offer plus thirty per cent."  
"And you're not going to tell Eric that you met me?"  
"No, I'm not."  
"Then you'll need to shower long and hard when you get home, because he'll smell me for sure and be suspicious."  
"Okay, I'll do that."  
Maggie stood up and signalled to TJ and Ginger at the bar. She held out her hand and Sookie took it, shook it.  
"It's so nice to meet you," she said sincerely. "I know Eric holds you in very high regard."  
Sookie looked at her and she felt familiarly bereft. "I hold him in high regard, too," she said stiffly.  
Maggie nodded and in her thoughts, Sookie heard her try not to think about Eric and Sookie together and what that meant or might mean.  
"Ready to go?" said the were, TJ. He had a beautiful, radiant smile. Sookie couldn't help but smile back at him and noticed how many woman in the bar, young and old, were unconsciously smiling with him.  
"Ready," Maggie said and she leaned over and kissed Sookie on each cheek, very foreign-style. The other patrons in the bar that were watching them chuckled and rolled their eyes – _Prolly a Yankee_ , Sookie heard someone think.

Ginger hugged her twice at the door.  
"I love this bar, honey," she said. "I love it. Best pork chops I had in a long time. I'm coming back for sure, for sure."  
Sookie was pretty certain that Ginger would never darken the door again. TJ shook her hand, a warm, firm handshake.  
"Bye now, and thank you," said Maggie.  
"One more thing," Sookie said suddenly. "The Christmas tree? He will hate it. _Hate_ it."  
Maggie looked startled, realizing what Sookie had heard.  
"So you have to do it," Sookie whispered. "And get an Elf on the Shelf while you're at it."  
"What's that?" the redhead whispered back.  
"A creepy little Elf that's suppose to spy on kids before Christmas. TJ will tell you. Every other American home has one."  
"Okay," Maggie whispered conspiratorially. "I'll let you know how he reacts."  
And they laughed. Thinking of Eric's grimmest disapproving face, Sookie was still laughing when she closed the door of the bar.


	18. Chapter 18

TJ drove us home. It was slow going: we got stuck in traffic, snaking our way through Shreveport's suburbs on what TJ claimed was a shortcut. Ginger became increasingly anxious, wriggling in her seat, pulling at her seatbelt.  
"Eric is going to kill us," she announced and then repeated it over and over in multiple variations on the theme: "We are so dead. He is going to kill us all stone dead. We are going to be so killed."  
" _Why_ , Ginger?" I asked finally.  
"Because he's gonna be awake when we get back and he's gonna know you went to see Sookie. And hold us responsible for taking you to her."  
"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed. "He doesn't need to know, it's none of his damn business. Just keep your mouth shut and let me handle it."  
"He'll smell her!" Ginger said, snapping her seatbelt open so she could stick her head between the passenger and driver seat. "You heard what she said. You reek of Sookie Stackhouse."  
"Maybe he'll be at Fangtasia when we get back?" TJ volunteered helpfully.  
"He won't!" Ginger wailed. "He don't come in till later! He's gonna find out!"  
It had been a long day. I was fond of Ginger but in no mood for hysteria.  
"I'll figure something out," I said firmly. "If he's at home, you two can distract him and I'll run upstairs and take a shower."  
My suggestion was met with total silence.  
Tough, I thought. It was the best I could do.

When we finally got to Eric's house, it was dark outside but some of the lights were on in the windows. Ginger was practically shaking with fear and she'd managed to upset TJ as well. He was clutching and unclutching the steering wheel, his handsome face was drawn and tense.  
"Let me just say one thing," I said, turning around in my seat so I could see them both. "I do not like how this man terrifies you. He's just a big bully and I'll stand up to him even if you won't. He's not going to kill anyone. He's not going to even yell at anyone – and if he does, tell him to fuck off. This was my task, my job, my decision. You two have nothing to fear."  
They nodded at me wide-eyed.  
"Grand," I said. "Now let's put our elaborate plan into action."

Our elaborate plan consisted of me opening the front door and running up the stairs shouting, "I have to pee!" I was relying on the vampire dislike of bodily functions to keep him at a safe distance. Ginger and TJ were doubtful, but I assured them that it really was as simple as that.

And the plan, simple and all though it was, worked a charm. I opened the door and waved at Eric in the living room. He stood up to approach me, but I held up a hand and made for the stairs.  
"I have to use the bathroom!" I shouted, "We got stuck in traffic and I desperately need to wee!"  
He started back as though I might wee on him, so I took the stairs two at a time, ran into my bathroom and stripped my clothes off, stuffing them under the previous day's wet towels in the hamper. I washed myself like a surgeon before and operation: quick as I could, scrubbing my skin with the only scented soap I possessed and washing my hair twice. When I got out of the shower I was pink-cheeked and smelled of vanilla. I wandered into my bedroom, pleased with myself, and found Eric sitting on my bed. He rose when I came in and gathered me to him in my towel.  
"You smell different," he remarked.  
"Do I?" I asked, rubbing my hair. "Probably a different soap or something."  
I looked him up and down. "Why the suit?"  
He was wearing a dark suit, dove-grey shirt and tie. "You going somewhere?" I asked.  
" _We're_ going somewhere," he corrected. "I want to take you out for drinks."  
"A date?" I said mock-coyly. "You want to buy me drinks? Get me all liquored up?"  
"Something like that," he grinned. "But we're going somewhere nice, so you need to wear something … appropriate."  
And he waved his hand at the garment bags hooked over the door of the closet.

Now I know there are women who like it when their boyfriends or husbands buy them clothes, but I am not one of them. It makes my eyeballs itchy, makes me feel like a kept woman. And buying me ill-fitting and impractical underwear while pretending it's a gift to me when we both know it's a gift to the giver is the kind of nonsense that makes me want to throw something.

Silently I unzipped the bags. As I suspected, there were three dresses with expensive labels inside. Cocktail dressed with some tasteful sparkle and boning in the right places so the wearer's assets would be held up on show. And all of them were at least one size too small, and designed for women with no boobs and no bum, tiny, graceful little women and not strapping big Irish girls.  
"Do you like them?" he asked smoothly, coming up behind me so he could kiss my neck. I suddenly realized that he thought I was grateful, that I was silent because I was overcome with emotion.  
"Mmmm," I said.  
"Do you want to try them on?" he murmured, his arms around my waist and his nose in my wet hair.  
"Sure!" I pulled one off the hanger, a beautiful little dress in rich black velvet, and stepped away from him, letting my towel fall. Eric grinned widely. I unzipped the dress; the chest section bodice would have held two mandarin oranges, so when I pulled it over my head, my breasts spilled out over the top and the zip snagged around my butt.  
"I love it," I breathed. "I just love it! How did you know my size?"  
I did a twirl, and a boob fell out.  
"Oops!" I said and tucked it back in. "Might have to keep an eye on that, otherwise I'd say it's just _perfect_."  
Eric roared with laughter. "Fine," he said. "Fine, I get it."  
"Don't buy me clothes," I snapped. "I'm not your hoor."  
"Hoor?"  
"That's what we call them in Ireland. A kept woman. Thank you for the thought: I'm sure in the Olden Days it was the done thing to present your little lady with a nice frock, but I'd rather buy my own."  
I put it back on the hanger with a tiny bit of regret. If it had fit me, it would've been a hard dress to turn down.

"Do you have any suitable evening wear?" he asked. "It's important that you dress properly when we go out."  
"No," I said shortly – and added, "Why is it important?"  
He pulled me back into his arms again. I wasn't wearing any clothes and I got the feeling that he wished he wasn't, either.  
"Because you are my – " he stopped, "you are my consort and you should be dressed for the part."  
I felt my eyes narrow. "Your _consort_?"  
He shrugged. "What can I call you? My partner? My girlfriend? My lover? I'm the sheriff and you're my consort, I think that's the official term."  
It still sounded a bit odd to my ears but I couldn't put my finger on it. It certainly sounded better than _girlfriend_ or _partner_ – I was pretty sure I was neither.  
"Give me a few minutes to get dressed in peace," I said. "I'll do my best to dress…"  
I paused for effect. "... _appropriately_."  
He left me alone, so I rooted through my bags to see if I had anything fancy enough to wear for vampire cocktails. Sadly, my entire wardrobe consisted of easy-care business clothes: non-wrinkle shirts and pants, sensible blazers and a modest collection of shell tops. If Eric had asked me to chair a meeting, I would've been ready to go. I gave the drapes a fleeting glance to see if I could pull off a _Sound of Music_ -inspired transformation, but I didn't think I could run up a dirndl with the bedroom curtains in anywhere near enough time. With a sigh, I examined the other two dresses hanging on the door more carefully. The second was beautiful, too: a floaty pale blue dress with layers of soft material. I pulled it over my head but couldn't get the zip to close. I was flattered that Eric seemed to think I was a couple of dress sizes smaller than I actually was, but it made trying them on quite depressing.

The last one was a shapeless long-sleeved dress in slate grey silk, the kind of dress that would hang beautifully from a slender frame. I held it up: it was much looser than the other two, so I could pull it over my head without any problems and pull up the tiny zip at the neck. On me it clung to my curves and ended mid-thigh. If I'd had the hosiery and the footwear, I might've pulled it off as a dress, but I didn't think my sensible heels would do the trick and Eric hadn't thought to see me shod as well as clothed. So I left it on over the black pants I'd worn that day: they were wide-legged palazzo pants and the grey dress hung like a tunic over them. I rolled up the sleeves, added a couple of bangles on each wrist and twisted my hair up into a knot on my head. The overall look was slightly ethnic – though what ethnicity I was trying for was not immediately clear – but it would do. Perhaps even for Eric.

He was waiting in the living room, flicking through channels on the TV. He nodded in approval when I came in.  
"Very good," he said, and I almost expected to be given a grade for effort. Instead, he held out a flat black box with a silver N embossed on the front. I took it automatically and scowled at him.  
"If you're not happy about wearing a dress I buy you, you'll hardly be thrilled about this," he said. "But it would go well with your dress. I mean, your top."  
I opened the box. On the black velvet there lay a square sapphire pendant, surrounded by tiny diamonds. The chain was silver-coloured but I instinctively knew it was probably white gold or even platinum. I snapped the box shut.  
"No, thank you," I said. Oh, _my_. It hurt to say that.  
"I'm not _giving_ it to you. I'd give you a loan of it, if that makes you feel any better."  
"No, it's okay."  
He took my hand and kissed it. "That sapphire was one of the ones owned by Charles II. It was acquired by the Russian tsars and when I bought it, I had it re-set in diamonds by Cartier."  
I gulped.  
"It's a work of art. It rarely gets worn – I'm hardly going to put it on when I go to Fangtasia, am I? So you'd be wearing a masterpiece of 19th century workmanship. Please wear it. It's too beautiful to languish in a box and it would give me great pleasure to see it being worn again."

I didn't take much persuading. I removed the fang necklace and handed it to Eric, who squeezed it in his hand for a second, then put it on the table. I allowed him fix the necklace behind my neck, adjusting its length so it hung low, resting on the grey silk. I touched the coldness of the stones, the diamonds caught the low lighting of the living room and they sparkled. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever had on me, including Eric Northman.  
"Let's go," he said and held his arm out to me. Still cradling the sapphire in my hand, I linked my arm in his and we left.

The bar we went to was nothing like Fangtasia. It wasn't even really a bar. We drove for an hour and then left the highway to travel down badly-lit country roads. After a while Eric turned in at a set of ornate gates. A man in a gatehouse came out, shone his light in the window of the car and motioned us to carry on, so Eric drive down the winding driveway till we pulled up in a _Gone-With-The-Wind-_ style manor. He parked on the gravel beside another swish German car, then got out and held my door open for me.  
"What is this place?" I asked.  
"It's a kind of gentleman's club – except it's not just for gentlemen. It's a private bar for vampires and their human friends."  
"It's not anything kinky, is it?" I asked suspiciously. "You're not leading me into some kind of Eyes Wide Shut scenario, are you?"  
He laughed. "No, I'm not," he said. "It really is just a bar."

Just a bar, my foot. It was sumptuous. Leather chairs were tastefully placed around low round tables. The sofas were upholstered in brocade, the same heavy cloth that hung from the windows. There was a small bar in each of the three large reception rooms on the ground floor and behind each bar were two uniformed servers. As far as I could see, no money exchanged hands. Drinks were served at the counter or brought to the tables on small silver trays. The vampires and their human companions barely acknowledged the blank-faced uniformed men, simply taking their glasses and setting them down on the ebony coasters.

Eric led me to a table in the centre of the largest room. The carpet sunk under my feet: it was a Persian carpet that featured a veritable zoo of animals, twisting and winding around twirling vines. He pulled a seat out for me and I sat down, patently aware that we were being watched. It wasn't hard to miss: some people were discreetly staring at us, craning their necks to look at some spot behind our heads, so they could take us in from the corner of their eyes. Others were gaping openly, nudging and pointing. Eric ignored them, so I did, too.

The waiter that appeared at our elbows didn't ask Eric what he wanted, he just stared at me silently.  
"A … um… a white wine?" I asked, unsure. Eric nodded his head a fraction and I knew my choice had been acceptable.  
"Dry, madam?" the waiter whispered.  
"Yes, please," I whispered back. It was that kind of atmosphere. Conversation resumed around us, a low murmur, punctuated only by the occasional clink of a glass and the solemn gong of a mantelpiece clock every quarter of an hour. While the waiter set our glasses down, I looked around the room. The clientele was chiefly vampire but there were a number of humans as well. I knew the humans because they were pink-cheeked from the heat of the room (there was a roaring fire in the fireplace) and possible the alcohol. The vampires ranged in human age from very young – there were a couple who'd been turned as teens – to unusually old. One woman looked like someone's grandmother. She was homely and plump, and her attempt at wearing 'appropriate' clothes was less successful than mine: she looked like she'd dressed for church.

"Can you guess another vampire's age by just looking at them?" I asked Eric. I'd always wondered about it but never thought to ask.  
He shrugged. "Sometimes you can – by the way they talk or dress. Based on how they look, no. Not unless they drop fang, of course."  
Like a human, you can tell a vampire's age by his teeth. The old ones had long fangs, often chipped or grooved from wear.  
"So how old is that lady over there," I said, subtly nodding at grandma vampire. Eric pretended to brush something off his pants and looked at her quickly.  
"Very young," he said.

"How do you know?" I asked, curious.

"Because, first of all, in my day it was rare that someone would reach that age. And in my time as a vampire, you would never choose to turn an old person. They were rarely healthy as humans, why would you carry them over to vampire? Any old-looking vampires have been turned in the past ten or twenty years – seniors with enough money to pay for their turning."  
"You can pay to be turned?" I asked. It was strictly forbidden – in Europe and the United States. Turning a human was almost a sacred task and formed an eternal bond between maker and progeny. Vampires that created other vampires without registering their progeny or, in Europe, their intent to create progeny, were strictly reined in by their authorities.  
Eric shrugged. "So they tell me," he said noncommittally.

Four vampires approached our table. When they stood in front of us, they bowed. The youngest-looking – and, I realized with my new knowledge, possibly the oldest – extended his left wrist towards Eric and the others followed suit.  
"Sheriff Northman," she said. "We are delighted to see you here again tonight and it is an honour you bestow upon us to bring Miss Kennick with you."  
I raised my eyebrows at Eric but he ignored me.  
"Thank you," he said solemnly.  
"We just wanted to say that we are very pleased with your work and we are happy to support you in this and any future role."  
"Good to know."  
"And we are also delighted to acknowledge your choice of consort," the young-looking vampire continued.  
There it was again. I kicked Eric under the table, but he continued to ignore me, nodding his head reflectively at the other vampire's words.  
"Thank you," he said finally and smiled at them. We all exchanged smiles, and then they went back to their tables. I wanted to asked him what had just happened, but I couldn't get him to myself: one by one, it seemed like every vampire in the Rhett Butler bar came up to shove their wrist under Eric's nose and tell him how wonderful he was and – oh, by the way – what a good job he'd done snagging himself a Kennick. I presumed this was some kind of fealty-swearing: maybe these vampires were too classy to come by to Fangtasia in their best leathers and lace. Perhaps Eric had to go to his thralls once in a while and let them kiss his ring.

We left close to 2 a.m. and I was pleasantly tired and relaxed. When everyone in the bar had come up and kowtowed to us, we were left in peace. I wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but whatever it was, it was going well. Eric was in a terrific mood and I finally saw how he could be when he was relaxed. He was funny and witty, his dry humour was offset by a mischievous grin. We laughed again and again, and I let him order me another wine. And another. We only left when I couldn't disguise my yawns any more, and even then I felt like a child being sent to bed when the grown-ups were all having fun.

"We'll come back," he promised. "And when you go shopping with Pam tomorrow, make sure she takes you somewhere to get a couple of cocktail dresses. And before you start a fight, they're on me. Or, better yet, on Fangtasia. I'll put them down as workwear and declare them against tax or something, okay?"  
I couldn't reply. I'd forgotten that I was expected to get up early the next morning to fly down to New Orleans with TJ and Sookie. Oh, shit.  
"Okay?" he repeated.  
"Yes, yes, fine," I answered distractedly. "I'll tell her."  
"And nothing too…" he paused delicately. "Hoor-y. Pamela tends to have quite … flamboyant tastes. It's crucial that you be clothed in a manner befitting your station."  
"Befitting my station, right," I repeated, surreptitiously setting an alarm on my mobile phone.  
Eric grinned. "You made a good impression tonight," he said. "A lot of those vampires have never met one of the Five Families before."  
"What was that?" I asked. "That whole hand-kissing thing?"  
"As sheriff, I think it's useful to have my constituents renew their loyalty on a regular basis. It helps to establish the order of things – reminds them who's boss in this area."  
My instincts had been right: he had been doing a little tour of his fiefdom. He stretched a hand over and stroked my leg.  
"I'll show you my appreciation when I get home," he promised.  
"Drive faster," I said.

When the alarm went on my phone, I was sorely tempted to hit the off button and stay in the warm cocoon of my bed. By the light of my mobile, I could see Eric's pale face. His arms lay on the blanket, his long hands unclenched. Before I got out of the bed, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. No reaction, not even the flicker of an eye, so I slid out from between my sheets and scampered back to my room to dress in something appropriate for a day of sleuthing. I'd just finished applying a slapdash layer of make-up when I heard a car pull up, so I grabbed my coat and jacket and ran downstairs. Sookie and TJ were waiting in the car.  
"Morning!" he said heartily. Sookie was in the back seat, so I got into the passenger seat beside TJ.  
She was looking at the house eagerly – like a hungry person viewing a laden plate.  
"That's Eric's house?" she said. "I always thought he'd live in, like, some fancy architect-designed place. You know, with glass walls and funny curves and stuff."  
"Me, too!" I said. "A detached family home in the suburbs doesn't really seem like his thing, does it?"  
She looked at me for a second or two, then allowed herself a careful smile. "No, it doesn't ," she admitted. We sat in silence as TJ drove off, then she blurted out, "I won't read your minds, you know."  
TJ glanced over at me. Oho, his face said.  
"I can block you," she said. "I just won't tune in to what you're thinking. I can do it with a bit of effort and I'll do it for you, okay? Just wanted you to know that."  
She sat back in the seat, a small frown lining her tanned little face.  
"Okay, thank you," I said. "I appreciate it."  
I couldn't help but feel relieved. I knew my mind would wander back to what Eric and I had done when we came home, and I didn't want Sookie to be listening in on that.  
Oops. I'd thought about it. I wondered if she'd heard?  
I glanced at her in the mirror. Her cheeks were a dull red and I felt a similar blush creep into mine.  
"Sorry," she said.  
"Okay," I mumbled.  
TJ looked at us both in surprise.  
"Don't ask," she snapped. "Best you just don't ask."  
"Fine by me," said TJ.


	19. Chapter 19

XIX

We sat beside each other on the plane, Sookie and I. TJ had made sure he nabbed the seat on the other side of the aisle and had determinedly closed his eyes, even before the plane took off. Sookie and I smiled stiffly at each other and buckled up. It was a tiny plane and it wobbled worryingly as it took to the sky. Her lips moved and I strained to hear what she was saying over the sound of the engines, thinking she was talking to me. But she wasn't; she was praying. Her fingers were gripping the armrests, her knuckles were spots of white against her tanned skin.

When we'd finally settled in, I turned to her and found her waiting expectantly.  
"You've been reading my thoughts again," I said.  
Sookie smiled her stiff little smile, chin up defiantly, corners of the mouth jerked upwards.  
"You were thinking pretty loud," she replied.  
"Ask me about him," I said. "It's like having a very large undead elephant in the room. What do you want to know?"  
She shook her head. "The better question is: what do _you_ want to know?"  
"Do you still love him?"  
She stared at me. "Of course I love him," she said. "He saved my life a couple of times, we shared a lot of stuff. I got to know a really nice guy with this amazing sensitive side – "  
Sensitive? Were we talking about the same Northman?  
"No, he is, really – he is. And he's funny and caring and a wonderful lover."  
She paused and I prompted her with a " _But_ …?"  
"But I don't _love_ love him. Like, I'm not _in_ love with him. But … sometimes I miss having him and Pam – and even Ginger in my life, you know? I love my husband, I didn't know what it meant to really and truly love someone till I met Luke and I didn't think it was possible to love someone more till I had my daughter … but that whole time with Eric and Bill was just this unbelievable time in my life and I miss it."  
I nodded. I had no idea who Bill was, but I didn't want to interrupt.  
"Like," she continued, "sometimes I'm typing up the notes for the Women's Social on my computer and I'm just writing away about Portia Bellefleur's win at Northern Louisiana's Third Annual Horticultural Contest and I think, 'What the fuck?' – excuse my French," she added.  
"No problem."  
"Four or five years ago I was fighting for my life and the lives of the people I love, and now the most exciting thing I do nowadays is write about Portia Fucking Bellefleur's fucking azaleas for the Women's Social newsletter!"  
She sat back in her seat. "Pardon my French, again," she said.  
"Really," I said, "It's fine."

We sat in silence for a moment or two, listen to the roar of the engines, rocking gently in the plane.  
"I know how you feel," I said. "When my husband left me, I wanted to kill him. I actually wanted to take a blunt object and bludgeon him to death – except I couldn't get out of bed and I was permanently blinded by tears. Then I spent a lot of time hating him. Now, I don't hate him any more – and I don't love him either – but I really mourn the life we had together. We had this whole _existence_ as a couple, then he walked out and all of a sudden it was gone. The friends that didn't disappear overnight suddenly became his or mine, but not ours. And his family were embarrassed by his behaviour and couldn't bear the pain of dealing with me... my family were bewildered and seemed to imply I had somehow done something wrong or hadn't not enough to keep him. Our life as a married couple was all gone, like it had never happened."  
Sookie was staring at me, frowning in concentration.  
"But…" I said "… but that doesn't mean I don't care about him. That doesn't mean that I'm not curious about his life and what he's up to. I mean, I'm no longer at the point where I wish he'd get gangrene in all of his extremities and have them all fall off – which I consider to be a great step forward, by the way – but it's not as simple as flicking a switch and all the feelings go away."  
She nodded, "Yes, that. Without the gangrene. I bear Eric no ill-will or anything."  
I shrugged.  
"So you don't mind me …" I paused, trying to find the right word before I fell back on one that was quickly becoming part of my daily lexis, "You don't mind me _consorting_ with Eric?"  
"Umm… no," Sookie said. She looked at her hands, twisting in her lap, like she was wringing an invisible cloth. "On an emotional level, I'm a bit jealous. Okay: I'm jealous. But not because you're with him and I'm not, but because of the _way_ you're with him."  
"Sorry?"  
"You're smart and well-educated and well-travelled. I bet he can tell you all kinds of stuff and you know what he means. I think that if I didn't have this stupid blood, he and I would never have been together."  
"I'm sure that's not the case," I said sincerely. "You're smart and quick and have this great innate intelligence. I can see why he liked you."  
" _Innate_ ," she said. "That's why. Because I don't use words like _innate_."  
"Oh, please!" I said. "Stop selling yourself short."

She looked at me, weighing something up.  
"See, one time we were in bed. It was at a time when he was … different. When we were together and it was like this perfect relationship, this little bubble of happiness. And we were talking about places we'd love to go and visit, and I said I wanted to see Paris. And Eric was, like, 'Yeah, we should go to Europe. It's amazing. We could go to France and Germany. I want to take you to Berlin and Munich. And we could to see _The Ring_ together.' And I said, 'I've already seen it. I went with Jason and Jessica to the Cinemark Theater in Shreveport.' Then he just looked at me with this expression of pity on his face. No, not even pity, just a kind of tenderness: _poor stupid little Sookie_."  
She turned to me. "I bet you know what he was talking about, don't you?" she asked defiantly.  
I nodded, feeling a bit shitty about my know-it-allness. "Wagner's _Ring Cycle_ ," I admitted. "It takes place in Bayreuth, in Germany, at a famous opera festival. But I doubt he thought you were stupid."  
Sookie looked away. "Yeah, well, that kind of thing happened a lot. He could make me feel so good about myself and so bad about myself at the same time. The thing is, he wasn't trying to. But I think we both knew that at some point what we had would just peter out, we basically had nothing in common. And it did, eventually."  
The flight attendant announced that we were due to land in New Orleans in minutes. Spontaneously, I grabbed Sookie's hand and gave it a squeeze.  
"I can understand perfectly why he liked you," I said. "But I've lived around vampires all my life and I can tell you sincerely that I know few humans that have ever had a long-term relationship with any of them that did not end in heartbreak. If you were lucky enough to find love elsewhere, you should cherish it."  
She smiled, a real smile that rose up and filled her eyes. "I do," she said, and squeezed my hand back.

When we got to New Orleans, Sookie led us out of the airport and hailed a cab. Our chat on the plane seemed to have changed something in her, now she was leading the way like a small, blond Mary Poppins, her ponytail bobbing in time with her quick steps. We got out in downtown New Orleans and Sookie carefully pocketed the cab driver's receipt.  
"For Pam," she said, as she folded it away. TJ got out his phone and we entered the address of the restaurant into Google Maps. Pam had sent me any information she'd gleaned by email: I had a couple of names and a few very short newspaper articles from online sources that simply reported a missing European vampire, part of the visiting Empress' retinue. The police had declined to comment as to whether they thought foul play had been involved.

"This way," Sookie announced and she marched off across Jackson Square. I looked regretfully at the lovely buildings and remembered my day out with the Stepford tour guides, Rob and Katie. As their names crossed my mind, I realized to my horror that I wasn't just thinking about them: they were actually just a few yards away. Standing at the railings in front of the Andrew Jackson statue, they were animatedly and s-l-o-w-l-y regaling a group of Asians with this history of the square.  
"Jesus Christ!" I yelped and stepped faster, outpacing Sookie. TJ had to run to catch up.  
"What's wrong?" she asked.  
"See those two in the blue jackets? They're part of the Queen of Louisiana's retinue. They're probably showing some of the Asian contingent's humans around. I hope they didn't see me."  
Sookie, without breaking her stride, threw a casual glance in their direction.  
"Nope," she said. "They seem engrossed in their guests. I think you're safe."

I didn't feel safe. It creeped me out, I scurried down the path and out of the square, only breathing normally when they were out of sight.  
"They'll be going to all the tourist venues," I said worriedly.  
"That's okay," said Sookie, "Because we won't be. Relax, Maggie."  
She started to hammer on the door of the restaurant in front of us. I looked at my watch. It was only 9.30 and the place wasn't due to open till eleven. Looking up I saw the word 'Fusion' written in silver across a black background: this was the last place Ilaria had been seen alive. While Sookie and TJ peered in the windows, I looked around. It overlooked the waterfront and a couple of small jetties. There were plenty of street lights and it was only a stone's throw from Jackson Square. It was hardly the kind of place a person – or vampire – disappeared into thin air. I looked up and saw three CCTV cameras within walking distance, so Ilaria must've been captured on film more than once.  
"Hello? _Helloooo_?" Sookie was calling. "Could you open the door, please?"

There was the sound of locks clinking and the door opened. A black woman in a black and silver tunic with 'Fusion' written in the same swirly font stood in front of us with a look of tried patience written all over her face.  
"Whatever y'all are sellin', we ain't buyin'," she said and made to close the door.  
"No, excuse me, ma'am-" Sookie said. "We just wanted a quick word with the owner."  
"He ain't here," the woman said. "And if he were, he wouldn't be buyin' nothin' either."  
"We're not selling anything, ma'am," said TJ, stepping in between Sookie and the Keeper of the Door. He gave her a full-wattage grin, all _aw-shucks_ charm. The black lady looked him up and down with an expression of faint approval.  
"I know ya'll are workin' hard and all, but I was wondering if your boss could just spare us a couple of minutes. See this woman here has come all the way from Ireland to look for her missing friend," TJ wheedled.  
"She came all the way from _Iowa_?" the woman said, incredulous.  
"Ireland," I enunciated. "From across the sea."  
And I waved out at the waterfront, as though I'd just pulled up in a galleon.  
"Ireland, uh-huh. You here about that missing vampire?" she said suspiciously. "'Cause if so, you don't wanna talk to Mr Trey. He want nothing to do with that whole scandal. It has nothing to do with this bar, she didn't go get her little ol' self lost on _our_ premises."  
"Then could we speak with – " Darn it. What was the woman's name, the blond woman who worked at the bar? I'd seen it in one of the articles Pamela had sent (…'local woman Michelle Hernandez might be the last person to see Ilaria Moore alive' …) "With Michelle," I said, as it occurred to me in a flash of inspiration.  
"She's not here," the woman said quickly. She looked a bit shifty.  
"Will she be at work later?" Sookie asked.  
"I don't know," the woman said and she was lying – even I could tell that without the benefit of telepathy. "And, no, before you ask, I won't tell you when she's working because that kind of information ain't none of your business."  
"So I guess that means you can't give us her address?" Sookie wondered.  
"No," said the woman. "Now, if you wanna talk to Mr Trey, you phone up and make an appointment like the police did. Like that vampire queen did. Like them other vamps with the funny accents did. You get me?"  
"Yes, ma'am," TJ and Sookie chorused. The black lady glared at me. My agreement was also needed, it seemed.  
"Yes," I said and added a "Ma'am."

The woman closed the door on us and we heard the locks clank shut in our wake.  
"That didn't go too well," I said, unhappily.  
"It went great," said Sookie. "What someone says and what they think are two entirely different things. When I asked her if Michelle would be at work later, her first thought was to remember that she was coming to work today before making up a lie. When I asked her for the address, the woman immediately checked that she knew where Michelle lives and established that she should be arriving any minute by bus. While she was hoping we'd be gone before she came down the street, she was telling us to make an appointment with Mr Trey." She snapped her fingers. "Simple as that."  
"You are a genius," I said admiringly. Sookie beamed momentarily, then set off on one of her Mary Poppins marches.  
"This way!" she said, heading for the bus stop. We scampered behind her, stopping when a bus drew up. We stood in a little huddle, watching the people disembark. Sookie's face was set in concentration as she tuned into their thoughts.  
"That one!" she whispered and pointed at a blond woman her own age. Sookie gave me a shove.  
"Excuse me," I said. "Are you Michelle Hernandez?"  
"Who wants to know?"  
"I'm a friend of Ilaria Moore, can I speak to you for a minute about her?"  
"For crying out loud!" the woman shouted. "I'm sick of telling people that I don't know! I don't know what happened to her!"  
"It's okay," Sookie said soothingly. "We don't think you had anything to do with it. We're just trying to retrace her last steps, that's all. This woman here is her godchild and she's travelled all the way from Ireland to try and find her."  
Well – not strictly true but it certainly made Michelle Hernandez more amenable to me. She glanced at her watch and said, "Okay. I can spare five minutes and no more. Otherwise I'm gonna be late for work."

We sat down on a bench and she began immediately. "We were chatting at the bar. I'd finished my shift and I was waiting to catch my bus. On the nights Trey doesn't come into work, we sit up at the bar for a drink before we leave – he doesn't like staff hanging around with paying guests, see. So, anyway, she was waiting to get her check because she was leaving ahead of her friends. I heard her accent and asked her where she was from. We get vampires and tourists in from all over the world, but I'd never met no one from Morocco before I was just asking her about it, you know."  
She looked from one of us to the next, then carried on.  
"So it was time for me to catch her bus. She'd paid the check so we just happened to walk out together. She turned left, down towards Jackson Square, I guess to get a cab. And I turned right towards the bus stop."  
She pointed at the stop she'd just got out at. Michelle raised her shoulders helplessly.  
"And that's it. I went home, I called my mom because I got mugged on the way home last month so now I call her every night. I yelled at my neighbour to turn down his TV. A normal night, right? Till the police came banging on my door."  
Her face darkened. "You have no idea what a nightmare this has been. They were implying that this Ilaria woman and I hooked up. You know, I took her home, fucked her and killed her or something. Just because I'm Latina, they presume I'm selling drugs or something. Like I lured her home to get her blood and sold it off to all my besties or something. Luckily for me I got into a fight with my neighbour, right? Gave me a pretty solid alibi."  
Sookie patted her shoulder sympathetically. "You poor thing," she said softly. "So you went down this direction and Ilaria walked off behind you. And you never looked back? You didn't look around, not once?"  
Michelle looked confused. "No," she said, uncertainly.  
"Not once?" Sookie said in a funny tone. "Think, Michelle. Not even once?"  
"Nooo," she said in a wobbly voice. "I don't know. Maybe."  
Sookie's hand was still on Michelle's shoulder.  
"Who was the dark man?" Sookie said. I started. Michelle was looking at her, her expression rapt. TJ frowned at me but I put my fingers to my lips. It was like being at a séance.  
"Who was the dark man?" Sookie repeated. "Think about him. What did he look like? Did he walk away with her?"  
"Yes," Michelle whispered. "He walked away with her. Down there." She pointed out towards the water. "They went down to the water. Then the bus came and I got on." Her voice changed, brighter and louder. "I went straight home and called my mom. I got mugged last month, right, so I call her every night."  
She looked at us all again and smiled.  
"Thank you, Michelle," said Sookie. "We won't keep you any longer."

"She's been glamoured," Sookie said. "I don't know by who. Deep down inside her somewhere, she can remember a dark man. I don't know if it's a Caucasian guy with dark hair or a Black guy –"  
"Or a Mexican or an Asian," TJ added, unhelpfully. "Anyone with dark hair, basically.  
Sookie sighed.  
"Yes, exactly. I couldn't tell from her thoughts. The man led Ilaria away, down to the oceanside. And if that's the case, if he did do her harm, her remains have long been washed away by the tides."  
That made everything seem worse: now Ilaria was almost certainly gone and there would be nothing left of her to prove anyone's guilt. I felt like crying and momentarily covered my face with my hands.  
"There, there," Sookie said. "At least now we have a lead."  
"It was dark, he was dark," I moaned. "It's not a great lead. We don't know if he was vampire or human. If she went with him voluntarily, she probably knew him and given how many vampires she knows, that casts a pretty wide net."  
"What about the people she was with that night?" TJ asked.  
"She was with two men, one human, one vampire. They stayed on in the bar for a while afterwards and went back to the hotel. They just presumed she'd already got back."  
"Might one of them have done it?" Sookie asked.  
I snorted. "Aside from the fact that one of them is a German forester who wouldn't know which end of a stake is up and the other is basically a vampire civil servant – not really the murdering types – they were both there, in each other's company, till they left together. They were seen by the bar staff leaving together and the taxi man confirms that they shared a cab to the hotel and neither seemed to be covered in blood."  
That's just the thing: when you stake a vampire, there's a lot of blood.  
Sookie checked her watch. "Let's take a little walk by the ocean," she said "And go back to Fusion for lunch."

Neither Michelle nor the black woman – Rhonda – seemed thrilled to see us traipse through the door at 11.05.  
"Hi and welcome to Fusion, New Orleans' oldest vampire-human bar and restaurant," the black lady rattled at us when we'd taken our seats. "My-name-is-Rhonda-and-I'll-be-your-server-today."  
She handed each of us menus.  
"Mr Trey is still not here," she said warningly. "So don't think you can trick me into letting you speak to him."  
"It's fine," I said. "We're genuinely just hungry and this place looked nice."  
Rhonda was slightly mollified. She read us off the day's specials: there was a lot of meat in many varieties. The humans' menu was nearly as bloody as the vampires'. I flipped to the back of the menu where the vampire bloods were listed: Fusion had an impressive range of domestic and imported synthetic blood. We all ordered steak, TJ wanted his bloody but Sookie and I asked for medium. Rhonda _hmmph_ ed, as though we were two cissies but refrained from further comment.

The restaurant was very modern. Unlike a lot of places that catered to vampires, there was no black to be seen. Instead, the surfaces were gleaming blond wood, with lots of climbing plants on trellises on the walls. It was really nice – bright and cheerful. As we sat there, people started to trickle in and by the time Rhonda brought our lunch, the restaurant was already half-full. I kept an eye on the entrance. It was situated to the left of the long bar. Patrons had to stop at the greeter's podium before they entered the restaurant properly. To use the restroom, you had to walk past the podium and out into the entrance hall, then go downstairs to the basement level. The restrooms, I'd discovered on a recon trip to the loo, were furnished in the same blond wood, with shiny taps and fixtures. There was even a restroom for vampires. Curious, I pushed open the door. There were no toilets, just sinks and mirrors so the vamps could freshen up. Interesting. I'd never been in a restaurant with separate facilities for the undead.

We ate our meal and left, speculating about whether anyone might've seen Ilaria from the windows of the restaurant. Sookie vehemently struck the idea down: while I was paying, she'd moved discreetly down the restaurant, peering out the windows. If Ilaria hadn't walked past on the pavement directly outside, she wouldn't have been seen behind the parked cars across the road, Sookie insisted.  
"What's next?" I asked. "How do we go about getting a hold of the CCTV footage?"  
"It's all in private hands here," said TJ unexpectedly. "I remember my dad saying something about it. The police would probably be able to demand anything they needed. I guess they would've gotten anything that was useful."  
"So let's go to the police station," Sookie said. She was tapping something into her phone. "It's not far. Come you guys, hop, hop. You need to shed some of those steak calories."  
TJ and I hurried after her and I couldn't help but hum 'Just A Spoon Full of Sugar' under my breath as I followed her swinging ponytail.

The police department looked like someone's stately home. We went in past rather majestic columns and made our way to the desk. The police officer on duty was as ginger as I but far more freckly. His badge said 'Gallagher'.  
"This one's yours," muttered Sookie.  
"Excuse me please, officer," I said. "Officer Gallagher."  
"You Irish?" he asked. "Only the Irish would say 'Gallaher' and not 'Gallager'."  
He gave me a wink and I returned it with my broadest smile.  
"I am, to be sure," I said and cringed inwardly. I had a feeling that I'd have to aim for _Darby O'Gill_ levels of Irishness. "I was wondering if you would be so kind as to help me. I'm looking for someone in the homicide division."  
"Committed a murder, have you?" Officer Gallagher said.  
I gave a peel of laughter. "Oh, you're so bold, so you are. No, I'm here about the disappearance of the vampire Ilaria Moore. I'd like to talk to the person in charge of her case."  
Officer Gallagher snapped to attention, suddenly detached. "And who may I say is asking?"  
"I'm her godchild, Magdalena Kennick."  
"Do you have any information about the case?"  
"No," I said slowly. "Not really."  
Officer Gallagher stared at me, then picked up the phone and spoke to someone. "There's a bunch of Irish people here to see you about the Moore case. Yes, of course they're human, sir Three of them."  
There was the sound of someone talking, then Officer Gallagher put down the phone and pointed at some seats.  
"Sit down over there," he said curtly. "You're lucky this is a slow day, you know."

"He doesn't like vampires," Sookie whispered. "You just sank way down in his estimation."  
"Yeah, like I really care," I muttered. "So rude."  
We waited for half an hour. TJ had got restless after only ten minutes, so I'd sent him off to amuse himself, telling him we'd phone when we were done. We waited nearly an hour and were starting to worry that we'd have to leave to get our taxi to the airport. I stood up and started to gather my bag and sweater when suddenly a man came striding through the double doors and in our direction. He was wearing a police officer's uniform, which surprised me. I thought he'd be in a suit, like the detectives in the films.  
"You the Irish?" he said, short and to the point. "I'm Officer Clark."  
"Yes, we're the Irish. Magdalena Kennick, Sookie Stackhouse," I said. Sookie nodded silently. She and I had agreed that she'd stay as quiet as possible so she could concentrate on listening in.  
"C'mon," he said. He led us into an office and sat us down. We weren't alone; there were four or five desks, each manned by a person in uniform. He pulled over a file and flicked it open.  
"Ilaria Moore, personal assistant to the Empress Moya of Europe," he read, lending extra sarcasm to the word _Empress_. "Disappeared Saturday night, Sunday morning. No eyewitness accounts, no sign of a struggle, no evidence of foul play. You wanna help me out?"  
I was a bit taken aback by the rapid-fire aspect of his delivery.  
"No, I mean: yes. But I can't. We actually came to you looking for more information," I said.  
"Where were you Saturday night?"  
"In Shreveport," I said.  
"Got an alibi?" he shot at me.  
"Yes, lot of them," I returned quickly. "Look, I didn't do anything to Ilaria, I came here to find out what happened to her. If I'd harmed her, I'd hardly turn up here, would I?"  
"You'd be surprised," Clark said. "So whaddya wanna know?"  
"I know she was caught on camera leaving the restaurant. Have you checked the other camera feeds from the street?"  
He made a face of mock astonishment at me and pretended to scribble down a note. " _Check all cameras on the street_ ," he said, "Got it. Great idea. Of _course_ we checked the cameras," he snapped at my bewildered face. "That's Policing 101, Miss – what did you say your name was again? Kennick?"  
"And there's nothing on any of them?" I asked, ignoring him.  
"No," he said. "Obviously."  
"Obviously what?" Sookie asked.  
He looked at her for the first time. "Well, if we had, say, evidence of someone abducting her or of her getting into a stranger's car or into a fight, then we'd have a suspicion of murder and this would be being handled by the homicide division. But as it stands, it's just as likely that she … ran away."  
"Ran away?" I repeated. "Yeah, that's likely."  
"Why not?" Officer Clark said. "That old guy from the Empress' staff said that she'd been moping around, that things weren't going the way they'd planned at their summit-thingy and she was afraid she'd be held responsible for what was going on. Do you have any reason to believe that she might've just wanted to leave? Disappear into the night?"  
"No," I said indignantly. And then I wondered: vampires were very good at disappearing.  
"Fine," he said. "Then we gotta stop here, I have an appointment. You have nothing you wanna tell me, I got nothing I can tell you, so we're at a stalemate."

I was about to argue but Sookie shook her head ever so slightly.  
"Thank you for your help, Officer Clark," I said. I didn't try to hide my sarcasm. We waited till we were outside, then Sookie and I spent a couple of minutes coming up with as many insults for rude Officer Clark as we could.  
"He wasn't lying, though," Sookie said. "They really don't have anything more. Your guys are pressing for some kind of criminal investigation, which they can't do because there's no evidence of a crime, and the Queen's people are telling them that Ilaria was depressed and probably just walked out on the whole thing."  
I sighed. It had been a long and aggravating day and it was time for us to get a taxi back to the airport. I started to dial TJ's phone number but Sookie pointed him out, walking towards us with his easy, loping walk. We watched him admiringly as he walked down the street, attracting glances from passersby for his earsplitting grin, as he swung a shopping bag in either hand.  
"I often get the feeling that cartoon bluebirds should fly around his head when he walks," I said.  
"Yeah," Sookie agreed. "He's just too pretty for this world, inside and out."

Sookie slept on the plane, TJ showed me what he'd bought in New Orleans. A lot of it was edible, including a number of barbecue sauces, which – if the promises on the labels were anything to go by - were hot enough to self-combust. When we landed, Pam was waiting in the arrivals hall, dressed in a long leather coated and high boots. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses, incongruous for a December evening, but very Pam. Sookie stopped when she saw her.  
"Why, Sookie Stackhouse," Pam said, "Howdy do?"  
"Pam," she answered. "Long time no see."  
They embraced.  
"Married life suits you," Pamela said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You finally happy, Sookie?"  
"Yes, I am," she said firmly. "I really am."  
Pam bent and planted a light kiss on her cheek. "Good girl," she said and turned to me. "We've got to hurry. I'm going to take you back to my place to freshen up, then we're going to hit a couple of shops before we go to Fangtasia."  
I groaned. I was bone tired. I'd been up most of the previous night and on my feet all day.  
Pam and Sookie hugged once again and then she left with TJ for the airport carpark. Pam's car was parked semi-legally outside the front door. She was given a loud telling-off by a security guard, but she gave him the finger and drove off.  
"Tell me all," she said. "Start from the very beginning."  
I could hardly keep my eyes open but I started from the start. So much to tell but so few results. I couldn't help but feel it had been a waste of a day.

 _Hello there, readers! Would you like another flashback? I might take another trip down memory lane - what do you think?_


	20. Chapter 20

XX

I told Pam of our adventures in New Orleans. She listened in silence till my voice petered out, made uncertain by her lack of reaction. She checked her rearview mirror and pulled up outside the entrance to an underground carpark. Punching the keycode in, she continued to ignore me till she'd parked the car.  
"Hmmm," she said finally, when we got out.  
"So what do we do now? What's our next step?" I asked to the sound of the door locks beeping.  
"I have to think about it," she said, a touch grimly. "In the meantime, follow me."  
She led me to an elevator and we ascended through the building. When we stepped out, we were in a hallway that was decorated in ornate wallpaper and elaborate ceiling mouldings. There were a couple of chairs standing to one side of the elevator, upholstered in particularly vile chintz. I suddenly realized that as bare and minimalistic Eric's house was, Pamela's apartment was going to be very different.

And I was right: I don't know what style she was aiming at, but I think the word _boudoir_ featured prominently on her mood boards. There was a lot of fabric: curtains, throws, scallops, pleats and flounces. It was very opulent, but just the tiniest degree too shrill to be tasteful. However, I had to admire her chutzpah: it was very Pamela; she'd obviously remained true to her style.  
"Like it?" she asked, placing her bags on the sofa. I knew only one answer would be accepted.  
"Yes," I said. "But aren't you in the middle of renovating the place? I thought you had builders in or something."  
"I lied," she answered airily. "A white lie. I had some work done in November. I even told Eric at the time, but as usual, he wasn't listening. Besides, I figured it would be far more amusing to see you two shack up."  
"Oh, _Pam_ ," I said and laughed.  
She waved a dismissive hand. "Go shower, Magdalena, then you can try on some stuff. If it doesn't fit, we can stop at a couple of places on the way to Fangtasia."  
She pointed at a door. "Second door on the left."

Pam's bathroom continued on the French pre-Revolution vibe: if Napoleon'd had a shower, it probably would've looked like Pam's. I stepped into her tub, pulled the curtain and adjusted the showerhead. She had a range of terribly expensive Chanel shower gel, which I used a little more liberally than I probably should've have – but I justified it, saying that it was her fault I had to de-Sookie myself in the first place. When I pulled the shower curtain back, she was standing in front of the bath with a robe.  
"Pam!" I shrieked.  
"Thought you might need this," she remarked, handing it to me, and left the room. "Nice," she added as she closed the door. "No wonder Eric is so pleased with himself."  
I towelled myself dry, put on my underwear and the robe, went into the living room on shaky legs. She'd scared the living daylights out of me. Pam, however, was unmoved; she was already laying out dresses on her sofa. A couple of them I dismissed instantly, knowing that they would be … well, too hoor-y for Eric's purposes. So we wrangled for a couple of minutes about their suitability, till I managed to persuade Pamela that any dress that required pasties – really, _any dress_ – did not fall into the 'respectable' category.

But she'd found three or four that were imminently suitable. One, a black knee-length dress in a stretchy jersey material, fit perfectly but the others needed minor alterations to account for my having a larger bust and smaller waist than is normal for my dress size. Pamela waved this obstacle aside; she had a dressmaker, she had to have everything adjusted to fit just right, she claimed.  
"Now," she said, "mix and match is your friend."  
She led me over to a small pile of skirts and tops. The skirts were in a range of modest colours: grey, black, navy, as well as one in a kind of bronze material. Next to them were tops in a variety of more vibrant colours.  
"I got you shoes in your size – a six, you said, right? But underwear you can do for yourself. I wouldn't even know where to start with this – " she waved at my chest. "Though I have a better idea now that I've seen them up close and personal."  
" _Pam_ ," I said again. I knew I should be outraged, but she was so outrageous, I could only laugh at her. She plucked a long navy skirt out of the pile, one that had a very high waist in a tulip style, and rummaged through the pile till she found a white blouse.  
"Are you wearing a black bra? No? Pity. Oh well, not having your assets too much on show will probably suit his Lordship better anyway. Try these on and let me see what you think."

I got dressed quickly. I was getting used to being Pamela's dressing doll – and I had to give it to her, she was a good stylist. The high-waisted skirt looked slightly Edwardian and when Pamela adjusted the blouse (well, when Pamela opened a few of the top buttons), the glimpse of flesh made the ensemble look ever so slightly naughty. I slipped into the boots she'd bought, a pair of high-heel black suede boots that had a line of tiny black buttons up each side. She tied Eric's claw pendant around my neck and pinned my hair up.  
"There," she said in satisfaction and turned me to look in a long mirror on the wall. It looked good and I said so, with genuine enthusiasm. Slightly vintage but with a touch of Pamela's edge.  
"You should do this for a living," I said. "You'd be a really good stylist."  
Pam paused and bit her lower lip. "Actually," she said confidingly, "I'm thinking about it."  
"Really?"  
"I was going to open another bar, maybe in L.A. Or get into vampire events management, know what I mean? But all of that involves all the stuff I hate the most, namely the public. Not just the human public but the vampire public as well."  
She shuddered. "But on a one-on-one basis? I can do that. I can play nice and help some loser dress less like a moron."  
"Thanks, Pam," I smirked.  
"Well, _really_ ," she said and I noticed she didn't apologise.

We gathered the clothes and folded them back into the bags, then Pamela gathered her things and we headed back down to the car. She'd thought to buy me a coat to replace my functional grey jacket, a long black coat that flared out in a full skirt, lined with a blood-red silk. It wasn't anything I would've bought myself, it was – well, it was too vampiric, too Roman Polanski for me – but not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not one bearing warm coats, I wore it and Pamela nodded in satisfaction.

In the car she said, "You won't tell Eric what I told you about me becoming a stylist, will you?"  
"Of course not," I said. "Do you think he'll mind?"  
"Why should he?" Pam said. "I mean, it's not like he's going to stay at Fangtasia forever. But I'd rather keep it on the QT for a bit, just till I get my ducks in a row."  
"Is Eric planning on leaving Fangtasia?" I asked curiously.  
Pam glanced at me. "I can't see him staying there for a lot longer," she said in her careful way. "He might move somewhere bigger, like New Orleans or Baton Rouge."  
"New Orleans is nice," I said. "But he'd be under the Queen's nose all the time. I can't imagine him liking that."  
"Hmmm," she said. I was beginning to realise that 'hmmm' was what Pamela said when she wanted you to know that she didn't want to say what she actually wanted to say.  
"Can you imagine moving to New Orleans as well?" she asked casually.  
"Not really," I replied. "I think I'm going to look for work in London in the New Year."  
Pamela took her eyes off the road to hit me with a frown.  
" _London_? Does Eric know that?"  
I laughed. "Pam," I said, "You both know I'm leaving after the summit. I'm booked to fly back to Dublin on the 26th December."  
"Hmmm," she said again.  
"Why are you hmmming? I'm getting the feeling that something's up and no one is telling me what's going on."  
"Why would you say that?"  
"For a start, Eric took me to this weird country club place in the middle of nowhere, full of vampires. A really posh place. And they all seemed to know who I was and came up, bowing and scraping. It was like he was putting me on display or something."  
"Well, he is sheriff and you are a valuable asset. It's a good idea that the other vamps in the district understand that you are his – saves any misunderstandings later on. One way to do that is to simply take you places and have them all see that you are Eric Northman's property."  
I shook my head. "There are _so many_ things wrong with that speech, I don't know where to begin," I complained.  
"What do you want me to do – sugar-coat it? You say you grew up around vampires; that's the way it is. You are his, he's claimed you. Sure, you have a bit more prestige than the average Joe Human, but at the end of the day, you belong to him. Oh, don't get all worked up. Spare me the feminism. It works the same way in the human world: he's your vampire, he's loyal to you. Except no one talks about bonds of loyalty and fealty in the human world any more - more fool y'all - but as far as other humans are concerned, he's yours. Isn't he?"  
"I suppose so," I admitted grudgingly.  
"Besides," she said briskly, turning off for Fangtasia. "You like him. He likes you. You get on well together, you have the right temperament to handle him and he seems to keep you amused as well."  
"I'm not sure he likes me," I said, expressing the kernel of doubt that had rattled around inside me since we left New Orleans. "I mean, I think he finds me tolerable, but I think my chief attraction is my usefulness to him."  
"What a quaint turn of phrase you have, Maggie. Yes, you're useful to him, but he likes you. Can't you feel it?"  
"Feel it?"  
"You've had his blood, you can feel him. Can't you feel his happiness, his pleasure?"  
"Not really," I said. "I mean, I'm generally a pretty happy person anyway, so I haven't really noticed anything unusual."  
"You're useless," Pam said scathingly. "Wait till he sees you tonight. See if you can feel him then."  
"Fine," I said, exasperated. "I'll try tune into Radio Northman and see what he's broadcasting."

We walked into Fangtasia, with Pamela leading the way. The patrons melted aside, leaving us a path to walk through to the office. I glanced up onstage but the throne was empty.  
"He's in the office," Pam said. And then something _clunked_ in my chest. Eric knew I was on the premises.  
I knocked the door to his office but Pam pushed her way in. "Only us," she said breezily. "Your favourite girls."  
Eric stood up from behind the desk and I felt a surge of … oh, damn you, Pam … positive energy swell inside me. He was pleased to see me. He squeezed Pam's arm in passing and bent to kiss me on the cheek, rubbing his rough chin against my skin.  
"You smell like Pam," he said. "But you look beautiful."  
"She made me take a shower before we tried on clothes," I said. "She said I stank. TJ and I went grocery shopping and she doesn't like the smell of were."  
God, the lies just went tripping off my tongue. Eric accepted them at face value, even nodded in agreement with Pam.  
"I've got something for you," he said, bending his head to mine. He led me over to the desk. Pam glared at me in an _I-told-you-so_ way as he leaned over and picked up a little dark green box decorated with gold swirls.  
 _Not more jewellery_ , I thought, but it wasn't. When I opened the flaps, I saw six handmade chocolates, nestled on white tissue paper with the same gold swirls.  
"I picked them out for you," he said. "You like chocolate, right? This one has salted caramel. And this one is dark chocolate – is that right? You say dark chocolate, don't you? Yeah, this one is dark chocolate with coffee cream. And this one has some kind of berry inside – "  
He was pointing at the chocolates eagerly, almost boyishly, trying to remember what was inside, even though their flavours and composition were a foreign language to him. I felt Pam's eyes boring into me and when I looked up over Eric's blond head, she inclined hers and mouthed, "See?"  
I nodded and suddenly felt a wave of affection for Eric. I kissed the side of his head and he looked up.  
"Never mind," I said. "I'll just eat them all and guess what's inside, okay? Thanks, Eric. That's very thoughtful."  
He caught Pam's eye, her sardonic eye, then straightened up.  
"It's not entirely altruistic," he said, suddenly cool. "I wish to taste your blood later. I would like to see what chocolate tastes like."  
"Of course," Pam smirked.

I popped the chocolate with salted caramel into my mouth and ate it slowly. It was delicious. Eric watched me curiously, but Pam just made gagging noises.  
"I'm going back to work. I don't think I can bear to watch your human masticate," she said to Eric.  
"Do you need me to help out?" I asked.  
"No, we've got it covered," she answered. "Besides, you're dressed way to pretty to be pulling beers behind a bar. Stay here with your vampire Willy Wonka."  
She left. I ate the remaining chocolates, the only thing I'd had since a sandwich at the airport.  
"I have to check some invoices," Eric said. "Do you mind waiting for me?"  
"No," I said and yawned. "Do you mind if I stretch out on your couch?"  
"Work away," he said, shuffling papers.

In the depths of my sleep I felt him cover me with a blanket. I couldn't even open my eyes to acknowledge it. Some time later, close to dawn, I felt him pick me up and carry me through the empty bar.  
"This is very gentlemanly of you," I whispered as he pushed the door open to the carpark, "But how are you going to open the car?"  
He grinned and set me down to unlock the doors. I climbed into the passenger seat and turned a little to face him, so I could trail my fingers along his arm, his thigh, as he drove home. He kept turning to look at me, to smile at me, and I smiled back. We got home just as the sky started to turn a pale pink. He hurried upstairs and I followed, my fingers entwined in his. When I came out of the bathroom, the sun was just starting to rise and he was already in the bed, his face smooth as marble. I slipped in beside him and snuggled up against him, putting my arm across his chest. Then it struck me once again how cold he was: it was like embracing a column in a cathedral, chilled and hard. He didn't react, not a sigh, not a sign, not a flicker. The contrast between the simple intimacy in the car and this detached coldness in the bed made me shrink back to my side of the mattress. Mentally I scolded myself: he's a vampire. This is nothing real. This is just temporary. In ten days I'd be back at work in New Orleans, navigating the shark-infested waters of the vampire summit, and when that was over, I was on my way back home to Ireland, leaving Shreveport, and Eric, behind.

It was all so simple, wasn't it?  
Theoretically, it was.  
But it took me a long time to sleep, and when I finally did, I dreamt of Eric's face when he handed me his chocolates.


	21. Chapter 21

_Smut at the very end. As usual, you have been warned. Proceed with caution._  
 _And a review (not of the smut, a general one) is always appreciated. Nice to know you're reading :-)_

XXI

The day-sleep was restless. I dreamt of Eric; of Pam. I dreamt of Ilaria. In my dream, she was walking down the dark beach, across the road from the Fusion restaurant. I screamed at her to stop, but no sound came out of my mouth and my feet were anchored in the sand. She walked on, into the sea.  
 _Ilaria! Ilaria! Stop!_ I tried to shout but nothing came out. She kept walking till she fell beneath the crashing waves. The she was gone.

I woke before Eric, heart thumping, and went downstairs to make myself breakfast. Or dinner. I wasn't sure any more. In any case, I didn't have much of a choice of foodstuff – the cupboards were nearly bare. I ate some bread with jam and drank a cup of tea, then opened my laptop and read my emails. When my mind wandered, I thought of Ilaria on the beach and it took an effort to see what was actually in front of me and not my picture of her falling into the dark water.  
 _Focus, Maggie_ , I thought. I scrolled through the emails - Stephen had sent me a one-liner:  
" _Can we phone later?"  
_ My answer wasn't much longer: I wrote and promised to call in his break, between one and two a.m., the time when Empress allowed her staff to feed or attend to other personal stuff. That done, I shut down my laptop and made another cup of tea. I went upstairs with my mug in hand, and crawled back into bed to watch Eric wake up.

His eyes opened suddenly, then he looked over at me.  
"Good evening," I said, sipping my tea.  
"Good evening," he replied and reached out to pull me over. I set the tea down in safety and snuggled up to him, pulling my hair back when I heard his fangs click. It was still quite disgusting and I still winced every time his fangs broke skin, but being wrapped up in his long arms made it infinitely more tolerable. Even before he was finished, he'd started to tug at my clothes and I at his.

Afterwards, he lay back on the pillow, the blankets kicked off. I, as usual, had them pulled up to my chin. He rolled over to look at me, scrunching down in the bed till we were face to face, my freckly nose level with his crooked one.  
"I've got a good idea," I said, stroking his face. "Why don't you pull a sickie? I'll phone Pam and tell her you're indisposed."  
A wide grin broke across his face. "You want to tell Pam that I'm indisposed? That I'm sick?"  
"Yes," I said, grinning back at him. "I'll tell her you have the 'flu."  
"And then what?"  
"Then you'll stay here and we can do something."  
"Uh-huh. And what will we do?"  
I gave the matter some consideration.  
"We could go for a walk," I suggested.  
"Where to?"  
"Just around."  
"Around to where?" he wanted to know.  
"Around _anywhere_ ," I answered. "You go for a walk for the sake of the walk. You don't have to walk _to_ somewhere."  
He shook his head as though it was the most preposterous suggestion he'd ever heard.  
"You'll want me to go jogging next," he said.

The vision of Eric jogging made me laugh out loud.  
"What's wrong? What's so funny?"  
"I just imagine that you run like a spider, with limbs flailing everywhere," I said, barely able to contain my mirth. I waved my arms and legs around in an approximation of what I imagined Eric ran like.  
"I do not run like that," he said mock-indignantly. "I run like a panther, not a fucking spider."  
This just made me laugh even more.  
"Okay," I said, when I sobered up. "No walk. What do you want to do? And it can't involve sex or watching telly."  
His face fell slightly. His range of social activities was very limited.  
"We could go dancing," he said.  
"What kind of dancing?" I asked cautiously.  
"Proper dancing," he said. "Tango. Foxtrot. Waltz."  
"Eric," I said kindly, "have you seen what goes on at Fangtasia? That's the way people dance these days and I really can't see you bopping away to Justin Timberlake at some Shreveport disco."  
He opened his mouth, probably to ask me who Justin Timberlake was, then shut it again.  
"How about the cinema?" I said. "We could go and watch a film in Shreveport."  
"Sure," he said. "I haven't been to a movie theatre in a while."  
"Oh?" I asked, reaching for my phone to Google movie listings. "What was the last thing you saw?"  
Eric was also bent over his phone, busy at the same task.  
"Some movie about two young students who fall in love and then she dies of something."  
I gaped. " _Love Story_? That was … I don't know – forty years ago? Fifty years ago?"  
"I guess so," he said casually. "Look," he said, leaning over with his phone. "There's a movie theatre in Shreveport that shows European films. This one has great reviews. It's called _La Jalousie_ , it's a French film 'that explores the concept of envy, both physical and intellectual. When Jean-Benoit and his wife Amalie retreat to their home on the storm-battered coast of Normandy …' "  
"No," I said and snatched the phone away. I tossed to the end of the bed. "No, I can tell you now that it's just French people being French. Lots of drinking wine and staring out at the waves and cryptic shit like, ' _Mais, Benoit, qu'est ce que c'est_ – dramatic pause - _la vie?'_ No, sorry. I think you need to see a blockbuster."  
"Fine," Eric said, leaning back. "You pick the film."  
"I have. It's called _World's End_ and it starts Will Smith and Victor Russo."  
Victor Russo was currently the world's biggest vampire film star. Even I'd heard of the film: a good cop/bad cop kind of thing, with lots of explosions and special effects.  
"Basically, two mismatched cops, one human, one vampire, are humanity's last defence against an alien invasion."  
"That sounds … improbable," Eric said.  
"That's rich, coming from a vampire," I said. " _You're_ improbable!"  
He conceded I was right. "Do you think this film with be good?" he asked.  
"Ah, no," I said cheerfully. "I think it'll be shite. But it'll be worth the trip to the cinema."  
Eric laughed, clapped his hands on either side of my head and pulled me towards him.  
"Excellent," he said and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Let's go and see your shite film at the cinema."  
"Are you mocking my accent?" I asked.  
"To be sure I am, begorrah," he said in possibly the worst Irish accent ever.  
"Cheeky fecker," I said in my vernacular and slid out of the bed to get dressed.

I phoned Pam and got her permission to play hooky. She was not pleased and told me to tell Eric that he owed her. I relayed the message to Eric, who snorted in a very unconcerned manner. Pam must have heard the snort because she started squawking down the phone, demanding that she speak to him. I proffered the phone but he shrank back as though it were made of anthrax.  
"Hell, no," he whispered.  
"Not so brave now, is he?" Pam said in satisfaction. "Yeah, well, tell him again that he owes me."  
I hung up and Eric grinned at me. It really felt like we were skipping school.

We found the cinema in Shreveport and bought our tickets. I led the way to the concessions counter, then we located our seats. Eric was very admiring of the comfortable chairs, even if we had to sit close to the aisle to accommodate his long legs. I had a small tub of popcorn, which Eric had pronounced 'disgusting' and he was drinking a True Blood out of a beer glass - oh, we made a classy couple. The film started and he sunk down into the seat, his long legs stretched out into the aisle. Back in Ye Olden Days when Eric had last been at the cinema, there obviously hadn't been surround sound: he almost jumped out of his skin when the alien ship landed and the cinema was filled with the sound of exploding buildings and screaming people. He bolted upright, fangs extended, almost causing me to spill my popcorn.  
"Fangs up, calm down," I hissed as the teenage girls across the aisle nudged each other and whispered.

The film was predictable but predictably fun. When I looked over at Eric, his face was rapt and he guffawed out loud at the bad jokes. But, to be honest, so did I. When the it was over, we filed out behind the other patrons, Eric listing all of the plot-holes from the moment the alien ship landed on the White House roof.  
"Get lost," I teased. "You practically cheered when Will Smith head-butted the alien captain. Don't play the snotty intellectual now."  
"Snotty intellectual? Gee, thanks."  
"And before you ask, I'm not going to pretend to Pam that we went to see the French film about the couple bitching at each other in storm-battered Normandy. I'm going to tell her you picked it out and you loved it."  
I gave him a teasing shove and pointed at the ladies' room. "Back in a minute."

In the privacy of the cubicle, I took out my phone and switched it back on. I'd missed two calls from Stephen and two from Pam. As I was scrolling through the phone log, the phone rang again.  
"Hi, Pam – what's up?" I asked.  
Someone hammered on the cubicle door. "Phone on your own time, honey," a voice called. "Some of us gotta take a tinkle."  
I opened the door and apologized to the woman waiting.  
"What's wrong?" I repeated as I walked out into the lobby. Eric was leaning against the wall, something he did a lot of – leaning. Probably to make himself less conspicuous, I thought. He tended to slouch quite a bit, used to leaning down to the height of shorter mortals, like myself. When he saw me, he smiled and I felt the same _clunk_ in my solar plexus that I was beginning to recognize as Eric's feelings, distinct to my own. It was weird.  
Pam saying something to me in a sharp tone. I didn't catch the words, but I caught the intent:  
"Are you listening?" she snapped.  
"Yes, sorry, yes, I am," I said and mouthed the word _Pamela_ to Eric's enquiring face.  
"So what do you want me to do with him?" she said, annoyed. "He's at the bar."  
"Who?" I asked.  
"Stephen," she said. "Stephen Hofmann. He's come up from New Orleans to see you. Apparently you didn't answer his calls, so he took it upon himself to come up here. Now he's sitting in my club, at my bar, looking like the douchebag he is and totally ruining the vibe. Get back here and get rid of him."  
"Shit, shit, shit," I said, only realizing that I'd said it aloud when I saw Eric's face. "Stephen's here, he's at Fangtasia. We have to go there now. Please," I added.  
Eric rolled his eyes and I didn't need any blood exchange to realize that he was really pissed off.  
"Come on," he said sullenly and, evening soured, we left.

Stephen was sitting at the bar and while I couldn't tell whether he was actually ruining the vibe, he certainly looked out of place between the gyrating humans and the predatory baby vamps. He didn't notice me approach because he was looking at the dancer in the cage, a thin blond woman who was covered in more tattoos than clothes. She was moving seductively, in time with the pulsing music, and he was watching her with his head cocked to one side, the way you would if you saw a strange animal at the zoo. When he saw me approach, his face broke into a wide smile and he retracted his fangs – but not before I'd seen them. I would've hesitated but with Eric at my back, I had no choice but to carry on.

Stephen wrapped me in a big hug and I leaned into him briefly, just long enough to get his familiar scent. My eyes teared up briefly, then I blinked them away.  
"You look well," he said and I couldn't help but feel that it sounded a little reproachful.  
"You, too," I said. And he did. For some reason, he looked more attractive than he ever had before – maybe I had to be away from him to really take stock of his appearance. His dark hair was, as always, immaculate and his grey eyes were curious, taking everything in. I'd forgotten the set of his regular features, the way he could look so thoughtful and introspective one minute and the way his whole face could light up with one of his rare smiles the next. I wasn't the only person in the bar who considered him pleasing – over his shoulder I saw two women at one of the ornate little tables watching us with eagle eyes, nudging and whispering, making admiring faces at the view of his back.

Which was just as nice as the front – just saying that for the record.

"Normanne," he said curtly to Eric.  
"Herr Hofmann," Eric replied, clicking his heels in a mockingly courtly fashion.  
"Is there anywhere we can speak privately?" Stephen asked me urgently, ignoring Eric's taunt.  
I looked to Eric for help and he threw me a bone. "My office," he said. "Come."  
The dearth of grammatical structures gave me a pretty good idea of Eric's frame of mind, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I hadn't invited Stephen to Shreveport, it was hardly _my_ fault.

Eric held the door open and indicated with a sharp nod that Stephen should go in.  
"I need a minute," I whispered to him. "Please don't kill him."  
I turned and headed for the toilets. Then stopped. "Or provoke him. Or be rude to him. Basically, say nothing till I come back."  
I waited till Eric had gone inside and closed the door, then stood in the grotty little hall with my hands covering my face. It's what my father always called 'Maggie's hiding place': when I was small, I used to think no one could see me behind my hands. Sadly, as hiding places go, it's pretty shit, but it afforded me a couple of minutes to catch my breath and gather my wits. Then I pulled myself together and pushed open the door to Eric's office.

Stephen was sitting on one side of his desk, Eric in his customary chair on the other. Neither man was speaking – which, ordinarily, wouldn't mean much in vampire terms as they can happily co-exist in each other's company in total stillness, without anyone feeling the need to fill the silence. This, however, was a different kind of silence. I walked towards the desk and Stephen instinctively moved his chair a fraction, so I could sit on the spare seat beside him. I'd sat beside him in lecture halls and conference rooms all over the United States for weeks on end. He'd saved me countless seats beside him, always touching or tapping the chair to show it was designated for me. I don't know if the gesture was designed to aggravate Eric – I rather think it was just force of habit – but the Viking glared at me and indicated with a quick jerk of his head that I should come round the desk to his side.  
I chose neither option, standing at the end of the desk between them.  
"Won't you sit, Magdalena?" Eric asked.  
"I think I'll stand," I answered. "Has something happened, Stephen?"  
He shrugged. "No, you've just sounded really strange on the phone. I thought someone ought to check on you and make sure you were okay. We've all been so preoccupied with the summit and Ilaria's disappearance, no one bothers to wonder if you're all right up here in this place with these …"  
Eric was staring at him, waiting for the end of the sentence.  
"… with these people," Stephen said. He looked at Eric with what could only be described as a sneer.  
"She's fine," Eric said. "More than fine, in fact. Most of the time, she's quite happy up here. And sometimes, if I may say so myself, she's very happy up here. _Orgasmic_ , you might even say."  
"Eric!" I hissed.  
So fast I could barely see it, Stephen launched himself across the desk. He stood, bent over Eric's papers, face to face with the other vampire, their fangs extended. It seemed like time stood still, but it was probably only a second, two seconds. Then one of them snarled – yes, it sounded like a snarl – and, with the same speed, Eric jumped on to the desk, his large hand circling Stephen's neck and pulling him up to his height off the ground. He raised him till Stephen's head touched the ceiling, extending him as far as he could, so Stephen's hands could not reach him.

"Eric!" I shouted and started to smack his legs. "Put him down! Put him down!"  
The office door was flung open and Pamela stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. Her face reflected the bizarreness of the scene before her: her maker was standing on his desk, holding a kicking, flailing vampire at arm's length, blithely ignoring the human thumping his legs.  
"Eric," Pam said in a warning tone. Something about her voice seemed to cut through the haze of his rage and he opened his hand, letting Stephen drop to the ground. I made to help him up, but Eric was beside me in an instant, an arm around my shoulders to hold me back. Stephen stood up and I wriggled loose. I could see the marks of Eric's fingers on his neck. I wriggled free.  
"I want to speak to him alone," I said. "Get out. Out!" I pointed at the door. "Out!"  
Eric looked at me with a defiant look on his face, but I shook my head. I wasn't in the mood for any argument.  
"You two can go outside and continue your pissing contest when I've spoken to Stephen," I said in a low tone. "Get out."  
"Come on," Pam said and led him out. He looked over his shoulder as he left. I held his gaze steadily till the door closed behind him.

"Him, Maggie?" Stephen said. "You chose _him_?"  
"I didn't _choose_ him," I said coldly as I took Eric's seat behind the desk. There were papers everywhere and instinctively I started to gather them up. "If you recall, I was talked into helping you guys out and I ended up with a vampire husband before I knew what was happening."  
"You could've turned him down," Stephen said. "You could've disputed the blood bond."  
Incredulously, I said, "You _were_ at the ball, weren't you, Stephen? Or did you move so far away from me when the shit hit the fan that you didn't hear what the Queen said?"  
It was a cheap shot and it hit its target. Stephen looked at the floor and I continued to stack Eric's papers, not knowing what I was doing but needing to occupy my shaking hands.

We sat without saying anything for a couple of minutes till I couldn't take it any more.  
"What's going on down in New Orleans?" I asked in conciliatory tone.  
He looked up. "The Empress and what's left of the entourage had to move out of the Queen's fancy vampire hotel. She was pretty angry at first, but we persuaded her that it was for the best. We're in a smaller hotel on the edge of the city and we don't have to be on guard all the time."  
"What's left of her entourage?"  
"Yeah, well, when it became clear that we wouldn't be working on the organization of the summit, she sent quite a few people home – her ladies in waiting, a couple of the legislators, the second assistants, Tomas, Pietro and Hans-Peter – "  
"Hans-Peter went home?" I asked. Damn it, I cursed inwardly. I really wanted to talk to him about the night Ilaria disappeared. I wondered if I had his German mobile number?  
"They're supposed to return for the summit, so the Empress can at least make her big entrance with the representatives of the Five Families, but Hans-Peter is digging his heels in and says he won't be coming back. I've tried talking to him but he says he's going to send his daughter in his place."  
"Why doesn't he want to come back?" I asked, but in truth, I knew the answer.  
"He got spooked," Stephen said – which was the very answer I'd expected. "He just doesn't want to come back." He shrugged. "We can't force him, can we? If he doesn't want to do it, he doesn't want to do it. Maybe his daughter is the better choice, but she knows less about her family history than I know about popular music."

I smiled weakly. It had been a long-standing joke in-car joke that Stephen was not allowed to choose the radio station. He liked to choose pop stations and then complain non-stop about how rubbish the songs were and how little sense the lyrics made. Ice broken again, I asked him about Ilaria and the investigation. He could add nothing to the precious little I knew and basically confirmed our suspicion that the case had been downgraded from potential murder investigation to a missing person case.  
"I was told that she probably ran away because the summit wasn't going as planned."  
"Who told you that?" Stephen asked sharply and I blushed. My stupid mouth. I debated making up some kind of lie but decided against it.  
"I went down to New Orleans yesterday and asked around. I was at the police station and some officer told me things were going badly, so she just did a runner. What's going so badly?"  
Stephen sighed. "The Asians are here and they're already throwing their weight around. The Japanese are politely disagreeing with everything the Chinese contingent wants, and both of them disagree on principle with anything that changes the way they've done things for a thousand years."  
"Nothing new, so," I said sardonically.  
"The Middle Eastern vampires can't get visas, so they're not coming and it was hard enough to get them to agree to come in the first place. A couple of the African envoys are here and a few have already disappeared – "  
"Disappeared?"  
"Well, we have guys coming from places like Uganda and the Congo, where being a vampire is tantamount to signing your own death warrant. Apparently a few of them decided they'd rather take their chances as illegals in the US and they've just vanished into thin air. They've gone, gone underground. Which is why the police think Ilaria might've done the same. With four or five vampires legitimately doing a runner, it's hard for them to understand why the sixth mightn't do the same."  
He shrugged again. "So the Queen is making noises about what a failure Moya's vision of the summit is and how she'll save what she can by offering an opportunity to discuss some of the secondary issues we'd slated for debate… I suppose that police officer was right: it's not going as well as expected."

We talked for a little while more and everything he told me just painted a bleaker and bleaker picture of the situation I had left behind. I felt immensely sorry for the Empress, too proud to return to Ireland before the event took place, but without any significant contribution to make to the summit she'd organized. It was a nightmare.

After a while, there was a knock on the door. I looked up, expecting Eric but it was Pam.  
"If you want to be back in New Orleans before sunrise," she said to Stephen, "you'd want to skedaddle. Eric told me to tell you that going to ground in Shreveport is not an option."  
Stephen stood. "No," he said stiffly. "It is not an option. I'm expected back in New Orleans tomorrow. Goodbye, Maggie," he said, turning to me. I went around to the other side of the desk and gave him a hug. It didn't make me feel better; on the contrary, I felt worse. I didn't realize how much I'd missed him and Ilaria until I'd seen him again. His leaving was triggering a familiar pang of abandonment.  
"Stay in touch," he said and on the word touch, his fingertip grazed my cheek.  
I nodded, mutely.  
Stephen left without saying a word to Pam. She just stared at me, hand on hip, till she was sure he was gone.  
"Eric is displeased," she said.  
"When is Eric ever not displeased?" I muttered. "He seems to have a talent for being pissed off."

Eric and I drove home. I wasn't in the mood for talking but I told him that I hadn't known Stephen was going to visit.  
Silence.  
And yes, I added, I liked him because he was a good friend and an old friend. And nothing had ever happened between us and now nothing ever would. For sure.  
Silence.  
And if Eric's attempted strangulation hadn't already made the point clear, Stephen was perfectly aware that I was Northman merchandise and off limits.  
Silence.  
And I was not going to stop seeing him or talking to him or phoning him. Eric would just have to deal.  
More silence. I gave up. I leaned my head against the window and looked out at the passing houses.

When we got in the door of Eric's house, he grabbed my arm and I sighed, expecting a lecture. Instead, he kissed me. A really cheesy Hollywood kiss, pressing me up against the wall, setting a tasteful photograph of some dour Scandinavian landscape askew. Then he propelled me into the living room, where he stripped me of my coat, and pulled my top up so he could kiss the top of my breasts, along the lace of my bra. I pulled his t-shirt up and off and leaned in to nuzzle him. He allowed me to do it for a minute or two, kissing the top of my head, then he turned me around and leaned me over the back of the sofa, raising my skirt, wriggling down my underwear. He leaned over my back kissing my neck, his hand snaked over my breast. I was breathing so fast, I could barely hear what he said.  
"What?" I whispered between gasps.  
"Please?" he asked.  
"Yes!" I said and he thrust in, causing me to gasp out loud. He took me so quickly, so efficiently, with such focused purpose, that it was all I could do to grip the back of the sofa and let him take his pleasure. There was something immensely arousing about it, but I almost felt like this was more than sex. It kind of felt like a point was being proved.

When he came, he withdrew gently and turned me to face him, kissing my eyelids, my cheeks, my hair. I leaned in and he wrapped me in his arms.  
"Was that … okay?" he asked.  
I thought about my answer. "It was ... interesting," I said.  
He laughed and pulled me towards the stairs.  
"Interesting sex," he said. "One of the more memorable compliments I've been paid. In what way was it interesting? Have you never done it like that before?"  
"That position? Yes. That purpose? No."  
"That purpose?"  
I tugged his hand to stop him. We stood on the stairs. I cupped his face in my hands. There were two spots of colour on his cheeks and his eyes were bright with adrenalin.  
"That wasn't sex, Eric. Or love-making or fucking or anything like that. You were marking your territory. Admit it."  
For a second he considered denying it, then he grinned, defiant. "Yes," he said and kissed my lips. "Mine."  
I shook my head in despair. "For crying out loud!" I said.  
"Come upstairs," he laughed. "I'll let you mark your territory with me."  
Still shaking my head, I followed behind him. Why was I still surprised that vampires were incorrigible? I thought.

But I declined to mark my territory, as Eric put it, pleading exhaustion after a long night. He was happy to let me rest, quickly slipping beyond me and into his lifeless sleep. Truth be told, I couldn't shake the picture of Stephen on the way back to the mess in New Orleans, driving along the dark roads in steady concentration, complaining about the music to an empty car.


	22. Chapter 22

_XXII  
The New Reich Chancellery, Berlin, 1940_

The two guards on the steps did not move as he walked past them, but Eric knew that they followed him with their eyes. He walked through the great doors and across the hall, his feet keeping time with the ticking clock. No doubt the place was busy during the day, but at night it had the air of a building deserted, with many lights turned off or dimmed, not to be wasteful at a time when the entire country was being exhorted to do their bit. When he stopped at the desk, the second hand clicked into place and somewhere deep within the building, Eric heard another clock chime nine. He was, as always, exactly on time.

 _"_ _Heil Hitler!"_ said the young man in uniform, extending his arm in salute.  
 _"Heil Hitler,"_ Eric echoed. _The ridiculousness of it_ , he thought.  
" _Nordmann mein Name_ ," he snapped. An appointment at nine p.m. with … what was his name? Hofmann. " _Ich habe einen Termin. Mit Herrn Stefan Hofmann, um einundzwanzig Uhr_."  
Hofmann had told him his title, something like _Oberdienstschaftleiterkommandant_ or some equally absurd Nazi conglomeration of German military words. He'd forgotten it before he had time to write it down, so Eric tried a tactic he generally found successful: he drew himself up to his full height and barked at the underling at the desk, giving the impression that any omission was the fault of the listener and not of Eric himself.

The man on the desk was already phoning through and he signalled for Eric to take a seat. It allowed him a couple of minutes to take stock of the Führer's new Chancellery, a building designed by Speer and completed at great cost and unexpected speed. Too much marble, too many antlers. Eric thought it was clumsy and lacking in style: pretty much his estimation of the Nationalist Socialists in general.

"Herr Nordmann?"  
A woman's voice broke his reverie. When he looked up, a vampire was standing beside him, holding a Manila folder close to her chest, with a polite smile pinned to her face.  
 _"Kommen Sie bitte mit,"_ she said, indicating that he should follow. She'd been turned in her thirties, her dark hair was curled neatly and she wore a tweed skirt with a pale green twinset – very demure and unremarkable, perfect camouflage for a vampire. She led him down the corridors, through doors, up stairways - two paces ahead of him, not turning to check whether he was following or keeping up. Eric made no effort to keep pace; lagging behind, he could admire her trim figure and the tight knee-length skirt. As though she could feel his eyes on her, she stopped suddenly at a door and spun around.  
 _"Bitte schön,"_ she said and opened it for him.

He went inside. The room was an office, but it was jammed with furniture. In the middle of the room there was a round table and chairs, the walls were lined with bookshelves, a couple of desks with typewriters and a telex machine. There were stacks of folders and papers everywhere. Eric looked around then took in the people who had stood to acknowledge his entrance.  
 _"Heil Hitler!"_ they chorused.  
 _"Heil Hitler,"_ he returned with as much feeling as he could muster. One of them came forward, a dark-haired man with a handsome face. He did not offer his hand – vampires rarely did – but instead mustered Eric up and down.  
"Hofmann," he said. "Progeny of von Wilmersdorf, who was the progeny of Baier the Elder, who was in turn the progeny of Hansson."  
He pointed at the other four vampires in the room, one by one naming their makers and their makers' makers, including the woman who had led them there. She called herself Irmgard von Werden, but she was known in vampire circles as Ira. She was the progeny of the vampire Gaius, and did not know her maker's maker; she was, therefore, at least as old as Eric. He looked at her with new respect but she did not return it. In her opinion he'd spent too long staring at her backside.

"We were very glad to hear that you had returned to the German Reich, Herr Nordmann," Ira said, taking the centre seat at the table. With a wave of her hand, she motioned to the others to sit. Clearly she might have only been a secretary outside this room, but in it, she was the oldest and most powerful vampire of their assembly.  
"I have … business here," Eric said. "Private business."  
The other vampires regarded him with the mildest of curiosity. Every vampire had some private business or other to attend to, they were not inclined to probe. "We hope your stay will extend beyond the completion of your private business," said Hofmann.  
His German had the crisp Prussian accent of his turning; Eric was still trying to remember the language he'd spoken when he'd spent time in the German-speaking states and duchies over the centuries. He was aware that his accent sounded odd and stilted, so he had said as little as he could get away with thus far.  
"What is this about?" Eric asked. The summons to Berlin had been presented as an honour, but it was wrapped up in a veiled threat: Eric had entered the German Reich without permission from the Council in Dublin or, worse still, an invitation from the rival council in Berlin. He took it that the five vampires packed around the desk before him were the core administrators of the _Zentraler Vampirrat des Deutschen Reiches_ – the Central Vampire Council of the German Reich. He was not wrong.  
The vampire Ira said, "We will not beat about the bush. We would like to invite you to join our ranks. You count among the oldest and strongest of us. Even though you hold land in the New World, you return constantly to Europe – so we take it that your Maker must also be here. The invitation extends to him, too. We would be honoured to have you with us."  
"Why should I … join your ranks?" Eric asked. He'd expected a lot of things, but not to be asked to join a Council that was presenting itself to the vampire world as the worthy successor of the authority that had sat in Dublin for centuries.  
They all looked at one another.  
Hofmann spoke: "We believe that this is the time to break with the old and create the new. The authority in Dublin represents the old world order but this new Germany is a symbol of all that is dynamic and modern."

Eric shook his head in disbelief. "You don't believe all of this National Socialist nonsense, do you?" he asked.  
Each of the five vampires around the table made some kind of noise of derision – a snort, a grunt, an exasperated sigh.  
"Hitler is a buffoon," Ira said. "They can measure as many skulls as they like, but one human is essentially the same as the next. Jews, Christians – what does it matter? For the most part, they all worship the same god, read the same nonsensical texts. It's absurd. But that's what we've come to expect from humans, isn't it? Leave them alone and they'll essentially destroy each other with minimal interference from our side. No, we see this government as a means to an end."  
"What's the end?" Eric asked.  
"Revelation," Stephen Hofmann said smoothly. "When the war is won, we intend to reveal ourselves. The Nazis are obsessed with their master race: we will show them that we are the master race of the master race."  
Eric laughed aloud, pushing his chair back from the table. "Are you serious?" he said. "Are you damned serious? You think you can reveal yourself to these idiots and they'll be grateful? Do you think that they'll _worship_ you? You're dumber than I thought."  
"We have infiltrated their government at all levels," Hofmann said. "At all levels bar the top, that is."  
He and Ira exchanged glances. Eric rolled his eyes heavenwards.  
" _What_?" he demanded. "Are you going to turn Josef Goebbels? Or Albert Speer? Or … or Hitler? You're crazy!" He enunciated the word: _"Wahnsinnig. Wahn-sinn-ig. Verdammte Scheiße!"_  
"Keep it down," one of the other vampires hissed.

Eric stood up.  
"I think I'm done here," he said. "This has to be the stupidest idea I've ever heard and I've heard a lot of really stupid ideas. Revelation is not the dream, it's not the ambition. Revelation is what we work to avoid. You've become caught up in the Nazi mythology: we're not superhuman. Not one of us, not even the strongest _in our ranks_ – " he used the term mockingly "can protect himself against the light of day. A child could open our coffins and kill us all when we are sleeping. Don't you see? Today they gather up the Jews and Gypsies and send them to the camps, but five years from now, it will be us. _Fools_ ," he spat.

He straightened his jacket. "I'll continue on my business," he said. "You can take this as a declination of your invitation."  
"Sit down," Ira said.  
He ignored her.  
"Sit down!" she shouted and he felt an invisible hand press his head from above, a crushing weight that pushed him back into his seat. She smiled at him in satisfaction.  
"Your feelings have been noted," she said. "But you're not just going to wander out of here and make your way through my territory. And how do I know you will not go back to our counterparts in Dublin and blab about our nice little chat?"  
Eric said nothing, watching her warily.  
"I don't plan on returning to Dublin. I'm going back to the United States when my business here is done," he said finally. "And, as I said, it's a private matter, a family matter. I have no interest in politics, in any council – in Dublin or Berlin. I can only give my word that your plans will be safe with me."  
"Your word is not enough," Ira said after a minute or two. "It will have to be your fangs, I'm afraid."  
"No," Eric said. "No, my word is enough. If you have my word, you have my honour."  
He struggled in the chair but he could not raise himself beyond a couple of inches. He started to thrash but this made her more cross: the weight on his head was almost unbearable.

Ira stood up and opened a cupboard door, withdrawing a small metal box, like the kind of box that held petty cash or receipts. She opened it and removed a pair of metal pliers. The other vampires looked at each other uneasily.  
 _"Ira, bitte – "_ Hofmann murmured. "Is it really necessary?"  
"We either stake him or defang him," she said. "If we stake him, we will have to answer to Godric and I would rather not have to do that. If we defang him, he is obliged to keep his word to me for as long as I hold his fangs. To me the choice is simple. Oh, don't worry, Stefan. You won't have to do it – you're not strong enough to draw his teeth. You can telephone one of my children and tell them to have a coffin prepared – and some blood. We'll need a tankard of fresh blood, because he will not be able to feed for himself for a while."  
"No," Eric said, "This is not necessary. No. _No_ – "  
Hofmann passed by him and touched his shoulder, a tiny pat of pity. Eric looked at him wildly, but the other vampire left the room without a backward glance, following orders.  
Ira straddled him and two vampires held his arms. The third slipped on a pair of thin cotton gloves and removed a silver chain from Ira's box. He stood behind Eric's head and pulled the chain tight over his lips, the burning silver forced his mouth open. His fangs extended and he could not retract them fast enough. Ira caught one between the jaws of the pliers.  
 _"Sie hätten sich zu uns gesellen sollen, Herr Nordmann,"_ she said with an ironic smile. You should have joined us.  
And then she yanked hard.

o-o-o-o-o

Maggie was sitting cross-legged in the bed, watching him through narrowed eyes.  
"Does my blood ever give you nice dreams?" she asked curiously. "About puppies and rainbows and stuff like that?"  
Eric sat up in bed and felt his fangs.  
"Yes, sometimes," he said vaguely. "I dream of my family. My little sisters. My horses. Sometimes I dream of old friends."  
She nodded. "I take it that this was not one such dream."  
"No," he said. "Not old friends."  
"Old acquaintances, then?" she probed. "Old German acquaintances? Like Stephen, for example?"  
"How do you know?" Eric asked, worried. "Can you smell him?"  
Maggie looked at him, then nodded slowly.  
"Yes," she whispered, leaning in. "I get a waft of sauerkraut and sausage... No, of course I can't smell him, you noddy. You said his name and then you said _Nein_ about twenty times. My German's not great but I take it you weren't happy about something."

Eric pressed the flesh on the top of his thumb against a sharp fang, thinking.  
"What do you know about Stephen Hofmann?" he asked. "When did he turn up in Dublin?"  
Maggie studied him. "You know I'm not allowed to tell you about other vampires' entries in the Book of the Undead," she said.  
"I'm not interested in the Book of the Undead," Eric answered. "I want to know what he told you. You must have asked him how and why he came to work for the Vampire Council in Dublin. Tell me, Magdalena."  
She considered it, and then began slowly. "He defected in 1944. He left Berlin and crossed through the Low Countries and was smuggled into by a bunch of vampires who first took him to London and then on to Dublin. Dublin was neutral at the time, but all vampire military operations – or military interference, I think is the official term – was conducted from there. He brought with him a lot of important intelligence, which was passed on to the appropriate human and vampire authorities. Ilaria always said that he probably helped to save a lot of lives."  
"And why did he say he defected?"  
Magdalena rubbed her nose, shifting awkwardly. "Look, Eric, I don't think that's any of your business, really."  
"It kind of is, in ways you could not imagine," he said quietly.  
She sighed. "He told me that he realised that he was on the wrong side. He thought that the Nationalist Socialists were going to do wonderful things for Germany and Europe. Hitler was this amazing visionary, with plans to reinvent the country and expand it to include all of the territories Stephen had known during his time as a human. But as the years passed, it became harder for him to ignore the atrocities. When he found out what was happening at the concentration camps, it was the last straw."

Maggie ducked her head so he wouldn't see that her eyes were wet. Eric shook his head: she was smart, perhaps, but like most humans, she was prone to be led by her impressionable human emotions.  
"He smuggled out papers and pictures – all kinds of information about what was happening at the death camps. The Old Emperor passed them on to Allied intelligence and sent some of his best vampires to help out after the D-Day landings."  
"Did Hofmann ever tell you what he did at the Reich Chancellery?" Eric asked.  
Maggie looked startled. "At the Chancellery?"  
"He didn't tell you he worked at the Chancellery, did he? Yes, he worked in the government building, rubbing shoulders with all of the architects of those atrocities. Hofmann was not a little desk criminal, rubber stamping orders from above. He worked in logistics and he was really good at his job. He moved troops and food and ammunition from one end of the expanding Reich to the other. Oh, and people. He facilitated the movement of thousands of people – undesirables, for the most part. He helped tidy them up and send them on their way to the concentration camps he claimed to know nothing about."  
Maggie shook her head.  
"That is a terrible thing to say, Eric," she snapped. "That's disgusting."  
"He didn't defect because he was on the wrong side," Eric continued blithely. "He defected because he was on the _losing_ side. So, yes, the wrong side – but not the _morally_ wrong side, just the one that was least likely to ultimately further his interests."

Maggie got down off the bed. Her hands were shaking and her voice was unsteady, too.  
"I have never known Stephen to be anything but kind and considerate," she said. "Of all the vampires I know, he is one of the most human and the most humane. He's worked so hard on the Charter, he's passionate about so many of the things you despise. You know, like the petty regulations to stop vampires doing hateful and barbaric things to us and to each other. He's not some kind of monster, Eric."  
There were some advantages to a blood bond, but sharing this kind of searing emotion was not one of them. Maggie's hurt thumped against his ribs and he felt sorry for her.  
"People can change," she insisted. "He says himself that he recognised the Nazis were wrong. He did a lot of good – "  
"Yes, yes, saved countless lives. In a way that required no personal effort on his part whatsoever – he just handed over a heap of papers and let other, more courageous people do the actual dirty work."

Eric stood in front of her, his head bowed so that his nose almost rested on her hair.  
"Stephen said he only met you once," Maggie said. "How can you know all of this about him?"  
Eric shrugged. "It was a very impressionable meeting."  
"Don't be cryptic, Eric."  
"He was part of a small group of vampires that wanted to oust the council in Dublin. They thought the future lay in Berlin and they were recruiting the continent's oldest and strongest vampires. I was the perfect choice: no political affiliations or office, no particular loyalty or indebtedness to Charles. Unfortunately for them, I wasn't interested in joining their merry band of vampire Nazis. When I declined, their leader defanged me as a means of keeping me honour-bound to silence."  
Maggie gaped at him, her gaze automatically went to his fangs. He clicked them out to reassure her.  
"Did Stephen do it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.  
Eric smiled wryly. "Your precious Mr Hofmann wasn't even in the room when it happened. In actual fact, he was … kind to me afterwards, in a fashion. He arranged to have me taken to a safe house and there was blood waiting for me when I got there. A few nights later Godric turned up to get me, which I presume was thanks to Hofmann's efficient organisational skills as well. That was the last I saw of him. As soon as the war was over and my business in Europe was finished, Godric and I returned to America and there I heard that Hofmann had inserted himself in Charles' inner circle. I was surprised, I must admit, because I thought his involvement in the Berlin council would be tantamount to treason but – " he shrugged "– none of my damned business."

"What happened to the vampire who – " Maggie stopped and pointed at his mouth.  
Eric smiled. "It took a long time for my new fangs to grow in. Months, in fact. Godric had to stay by me the entire time because without them I was helpless. I couldn't hunt or break skin to feed, I had to have him by my side to protect me. When my fangs were strong enough to use again, we parted ways for a couple of weeks. On his return, he gave me back the fangs that had been pulled. They'd been kept as trophies, you see. I don't know how he'd got them back and I don't know who he killed to get them – the war was ending anyway, so he ventured into the chaos that was Berlin and came back with my fangs in a box."  
Eric went over to the bureau and rummaged in his keepsakes. He took out an old matchbox, the writing was faded and the sulphur strip on the side had been struck so often, it was nearly threadbare. He handed it to Maggie.

Gingerly, she slid the top open and removed the curved tooth.  
"Oh, God," she said queasily. She tipped the box over. "Where's the other one?"  
Eric leaned forward and pulled the chain around her neck, placing it on her shirt.  
"Around your neck," he said. "Where it always is."  
She made a small _bleurgh_ sound and shoved the box into his hand, bolting for the bathroom. Eric replaced the fang in the little box and returned it to the drawer.

 _x-x-x-x_

 _You've got this far - nice to see you still here! Please consider leaving a review or - just as good - a quick 'hello' in the comments box. It's always nice to know that someone somewhere is actually reading this ;-)_


	23. Chapter 23

Eric stuck his head around the door.  
"You're not throwing up, are you?"  
Drying my hands on the towel beside the washbasin I said, "No, just trying to scrub off the heebie-jeebies."  
He laughed and came inside. "What did you think it was, if not a tooth?" he asked.  
"I thought it was a claw or something."  
"And how is that better?"  
Good question. "I don't know," I said laughing hopelessly, "It just seems slightly less gruesome than having one of your fangs dangling around my throat."  
In answer to that, he picked up the offending fang and placed it around my neck. I watched him in the mirror, carefully snapping the tiny latch on the chain shut, then fixing it so his fang rested between my breasts.  
"I like it when you're naked except for this," he said softly. "I like to see you wear it when we make love."  
He didn't look at me when he said it. In fact, he pretended to busy himself with the chain – which was fine by me, because I was struggling to keep my face neutral and composed. See, I didn't think we had been making love. Certainly, I didn't think of it that way: in my head, we'd been having sex. Shagging. Other more primal – okay: ruder words. Love making? Eh, no. Heebie-jeebies again.

"Mmmm," I said, my go-to response for awkward situations.  
"Do you mind if we each do our own thing tonight?" Eric asked in a brisk tone, as though our previous exchange had never happened. _Thank God_ , I thought, and answered a little too enthusiastically: "Yes! No, I mean: yes, I don't mind, no."  
My signals were mixed, but Eric understood what I meant.  
"It's just that I have laundry to do and I should really phone my parents and I – "  
"It's okay," he said, amused. "I just wanted to know if you minded being alone in the house, after what happened the last time. The face at the window?" he prompted, seeing the blank look on my face.  
"Oh, that," I said. So much had happened since the first night here, I'd almost forgotten about it.  
He peered at me, trying to gauge what was going on in my head.  
"I'll phone you every hour, okay? If for any reason you don't pick up, I'll come back straight away."  
"Fine," I said. "And if it is another vampire, I'll just wave your fang at them and say that I've already been spoken for."  
"It's not Kryptonite," Eric said. "Though I suppose it's better than nothing."  
Gee, I thought sourly, what a nice way to remind me that I was essentially a sitting duck armed with an old tooth for protection.

"Bye, darling!" I carolled as he left. I was standing at the front door, waving a handkerchief at him, in classic housewifey-style. "I'll have your slippers and pipe ready when you return!"  
Eric shook his head in despair. The lights on the car flashed, the doors clicked open.  
"What are you up to tonight, by the way?" I called.  
He sighed and came back to the door. "Top secret vampire political crap. Espionage, conspiracies, plotting, that sort of stuff," he said drily. "Not the kind of thing we shout all over the neighbourhood."  
"Darling," I said, batting my eyelashes, "It's like being married to James Bond."  
I pulled his tie and he lowered his face to mine for a kiss.  
"You sure you won't need the car?" he asked.  
"I've got enough work to do at home," I said. "Don't worry about it."  
He straightened up. "We should really organise a car for you," he said thoughtfully. "I'll have one of my day guys look into it for you."  
I was going to tell him that there wasn't much point – I'd be on my way back to New Orleans in a matter of days, but he was already striding over to the car. He got in, put on his seat belt and gave me a nod. I waved my handkerchief enthusiastically and blew him kisses. He rolled his eyes and pulled out of the driveway.  
"Go inside," he mouthed.  
I watched him leave, pretending to weep melodramatically, then went back inside and closed the door.  
It was just so much fun to annoy him.

The first thing I did was Skype my parents. I'd avoided that duty with a series of vague and non-committal texts, but I couldn't avoid it any longer. I set up my laptop at the kitchen table and dialled through to my parents' computer. I could just imagine my mother sitting in front of the PC in their living room, frantically trying to figure out which button to click to accept my call. She probably had the cat on her lap and her reading glasses somewhere in the bottom of her handbag. And that's exactly the way it was: my mother's image filled my laptop, she was talking before I could even focus on what she was saying:  
"… and he told me Ilaria was missing! What happened to her? We're worried sick, I tell you. I haven't slept in a week. What's going on? Where are you, anyway? You're not in New Orleans, that much is clear, but Stephen didn't want to tell me where you were. You're not in trouble, are you? You haven't gone and done something stupid now, Maggie, have you?"  
"Ma, I'm fine," I said. "Don't worry about me."  
My mother stared at me, uncomprehending.  
" _What_?" she said loudly.  
She'd been to the hairdresser, her hair was shorter than when I'd left. She had the same hair as me, but hers was now cut to her chin and held in place with a wide scarf that she wore around her head like an outsized Alice band. She leaned into the screen and glared at me.  
"I can't hear a word you're saying," she said. "Your computer must be broken."  
I sighed. "You probably have the sound turned down," I said – which, of course, was completely useless, because … you've guessed it … she had the sound turned down.  
"John!" my mother shouted. " _John_! Your daughter is on the Skype computer telephone but she's turned the sound off. Can you come in here and help me? ... Your father will be in to give us a hand in a minute," she said reassuringly to the screen.  
"Ma," I enunciated, "Turn the sound back on."  
"What?" she shouted.  
My father shuffled in, and sat down beside my mother.  
"Howarya, Maggie," he said. "Your mam says your computer is broken."  
He pushed his glasses back up his nose and surveyed the computer as though he were about to engage with it in hand-to-hand combat.

 _Jesus Christ_ , I thought, and pulled a piece of paper out of my notebook.  
TURN THE SOUND BACK ON I wrote. LOUDSPEAKER SYMBOL, BOTTOM RIGHT OF SCREEN.  
I held it up to the laptop camera and watched my parents scramble to read it. My father took his glasses off to see it more clearly, my mother dived for her handbag to find hers. Eyewear adjusted, they read the message and my mother took the brave step of clicking the mouse on the correct icon and – lo and behold – we were able to communicate once more.

This: _this_ is why I prefer not to use technology to contact my parents. We get on so much better face to face.

I filled them in on everything that had happened since we last spoke. As it happens, it had trickled down through them via my uncle James, who'd informed them of Ilaria's disappearance and told them that I was staying with friends somewhere in Louisiana. Luckily for me, the fact that loads of other members of the Empress's entourage had returned to Dublin meant that my being sent away didn't appear as shocking or troublesome as it had really been. Whoever had spoken to James – probably Stephen, bless his diplomatic heart – had omitted to tell him that I had been sent away for being naughty, not superfluous.  
"Who are you staying with?" my mother asked curiously. "Stephen said you were visiting a friend of Ilaria's."  
I really, really owed Stephen. My feelings towards him had taken a few unexpected turns this evening, but this had put him straight back into my good books.  
"Yes," I said quickly. "Pamela de Beaufort. They were nestmates. She's a good friend of Ilaria's and _very_ respectable."  
"No doubt," said my father. "So what's this Stephen was saying about you shacking up with her maker?"  
I don't know what shocked me more: my father using the term _shacking up_ or the fact that Stephen had ratted me out. Once again, he sank in my estimation.  
I was getting really confused.  
"Eric Northman," my father said slowly, pushing the glasses back down his nose so he could read something written on the notepad beside the computer. "Is that what it says, Anna? Northman?"  
She confirmed that it was, in fact, Northman.  
"We've told you often enough that you shouldn't be carrying on with vampires," my mother scolded. "But if you really must do so, then you could've picked yourself someone more suitable. Did you not look him up in the _Book of the Undead_ before you two started getting cosy? What's the whole point of gathering all of this information, if not to know this kind of thing?"  
"Your grandfather is not very pleased," my father said darkly. And then – my heart stopped – he turned from the screen and shouted, "Da! Da!"  
"No!" I whispered, "Is he there? Don't call him! Don't call him!"

Too late. My grandfather and my grandmother had probably been on one of their daily visits to my parents – our house was en route to the grocery store and on the way to the park where they walked their dogs – so they came into the living room and peered into the screen to see me. There was some confusion as everyone took their seats _(Not this chair, Seán, take this one instead. This one has a wonky leg. No, don't be moving around on it, it's a swivel chair. Jesus. Mary and holy Saint Joseph, don't be twirling around on that like a dervish or you'll need to have another hip replaced._ Et cetera) and then, finally settled, my grandparents leaned in to inspect me. My father's father is one of the last true vampire killers: he and Tomas Ardelean still know what it is like to hunt and stake a vampire, my grandda has taken down creatures far older and stronger than most people could imagine. And even though he's in his eighties, I have yet to meet a vampire who would willingly take their chances against him. He has a small arsenal of stakes and crosses and a stockpile of silver bullets in the sideboard of his dining room and I'm certain that he has more than one set of fangs rattling around an empty matchbox somewhere. He is, in short, quite formidable. The only one who can truly control him is my grandmother, who comes from normal stock: she has learned to accept all of this vampire business with an implacable smile. Her tactic is to simply ignore as much of it as she can. It works for her.

"What's this I hear about you and Eric Northman?" my grandfather shouted into the computer.  
Unlike my father, he knew exactly who Eric Northman was. I'd say his name had only needed to be mentioned once and my grandfather had immediately scurried off to take down one of his leather-bound volumes of the _Book of the Undead_ to confirm what he already knew about this scoundrel.  
"It's okay, grandda," I said. "It's nothing serious, it's just a …"  
I tried to find a word suited to the assembled company. My grandmother helped me out: "A fling!" she offered.  
"A fling," I agreed weakly.  
"What about Stephen?" asked my mother. "I liked Stephen."  
"Stephen's a grand chap," my father pronounced. "You could do worse than Stephen. What's wrong with him?"  
My grandmother murmured her agreement, but my grandfather stopped that line of questioning with a shout: "Stephen is a bollocks!"  
"Seán!" my grandmother snapped. " _Language_!"  
"I don't know who's worse," my grandfather continued, ignoring her, "Northman or Hofmann. Honestly, Magdalena, what are you at? Tomas Ardelean told me that you and Northman have had a blood exchange. I'm hearing rumours over here that you're his consort – and that's not even the worst of it!"  
My 83-year-old grandfather could just about use his original Nokia 3310, doesn't understand how the internet works, considers telegrams to be instant messaging … yet he manages to be perfectly informed every time a pin drops in vampire circles, even if those circles are turning on the other side of the Atlantic ocean. I had to admit that I was impressed.  
"It's true," I said. "I like him. He's a nice guy, we're having a lot of fun."  
"Are you his consort?" said my mother, cutting to the chase. "Are you not still married, Maggie? Does your husband know about this?"  
"Ex-husband," I corrected. "Ma, that's just what they call it. It doesn't mean anything, it's just significantly less cringy than being called his girlfriend. Besides, he's the sheriff, so that makes me, you know, his official companion."

"Ah, for the love of God!" my grandfather said, red-faced. "This is worse than I thought. If you'd been in cahoots with him, I'd have just told you to get your backside home and stop causing trouble. But you don't even know what he's up to, do you?"  
My parents and grandmother had turned to look at my grandfather, so now, perturbed, they all turned to look at me.  
"No?" I said, uncertainly.  
"For the love of God and all things holy," my grandfather said in exasperation. "Well, why don't you tell him that your grandfather wants to know what he's got planned. And you can tell him from me that you're not going to be involved in it. I want you back home here before that blasted summit, Maggie. And you can tell Moya Kennedy I said that. No two ways about it."  
He nodded his head decisively.  
"What has he got planned?" I asked, feeling a shot of dread go straight to my heart. I hadn't known Eric that long, but I doubted he was planning, say, a holiday or a surprise party.  
"Ask him," my grandfather said and set his mouth in a straight line. "Far be it for me to let you know what your vampire husband is up to."  
"Communication is key in a marriage," my grandmother intoned helpfully. "You two really should talk more."

Eh, okay. Luckily for me, my phone started to ring and, speak of the devil, it was Eric.  
"That's him," I said. "I have to take this call."  
"Is that Northman?" my grandfather said. "Put him on the internet, I want to have a word with him."  
"She can't put him on the internet," my mother said. "He needs to have the Skype."  
She looked at me onscreen with a smug _tsk-tsk_ expression: newbs!  
"Isn't the Skype the internet?" my grandmother wanted to know.  
Right, fine. Enough was enough. I didn't think I could cope with listening to my mother explaining the concept of the internet to my grandparents. Correction: explaining _her_ concept of the internet.  
I said a hasty goodbye and answered my phone before it went to voicemail.

"You okay, Magdalena?" Eric asked.  
"Yes. I was just having my head wrecked by my parents and grandparents," I said. "They all say hello, by the way."  
Actually, they didn't. They'd said things like, _get away from that man as fast as possible_ and _why aren't you dating that nice Stephen Hofmann?_ – but I euphemised.  
There was a silence on the other end as Eric tried to process what I'd said and figure out what I'd really meant.  
"I'll tell you later," I said wearily. "It's better that you just don't ask."  
I could hear noise in the background, people's voices, scuffling, cars.  
"Where are you?" I asked curiously.  
"I'm visiting my constituents," he answered.  
" _Again_? You're a really dedicated sheriff."  
He laughed a short, hoarse laugh. "You have no idea."  
See, that was the truth: I really did have no idea.  
"I'll tell you later," he said. "But it might be close to dawn before I get back – so don't feel you have to wait up for me."  
I promised I wouldn't. He hung up and I went back to my emails, dealing with all of the unpleasant stuff I'd done my best to ignore: emails from my now ex-husband about the sale of our house, an appointment with our solicitor. Emails from Uncle James about a couple of the vampires we'd met in Dallas. Emails from Stephen including the itinerary for my return and forwarded emails from the offices of Queen Catherine with the schedule of events for the summit. I couldn't even bring myself to open the latter; I saved the PDFs to my laptop and swore I'd open them the following day, when I felt more mentally able. After all, dealing with my grandfather was enough for one night without adding Queen Catherine to the mix as well. Every hour, on the hour, Erik rang - he simply asked if I was okay and hung up again.

At about 4 a.m. I could stay awake no longer and I went to bed. Eric slipped in beside me some time later, probably very close to dawn as he didn't have time to shower. I felt the bed depress, then he moved close to stroke my face before rolling on to his back and shutting down. Placing my forehead against his shoulder, I smelled cigarette smoke and alcohol from him and something else as well, something familiar but foreign. Then I remembered what it was: werewolf. I breathed deep and rubbed my nose against his skin. We would need to have a couple of very interesting conversations, I thought, before I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

XXIV

With Eric still asleep upstairs, I set myself up at his kitchen table: laptop, notepad, phone and tea. It wasn't much, as offices go, but suited my purposes perfectly well. I scrolled down through my mobile and found that I did, indeed, have Hans-Peter's German mobile number. I'd vaguely remembered him giving it to me when we were at our Vampire Training Course in Dublin – luckily I hadn't thought to delete it. I checked the time in Germany and sent him a text. It was late afternoon in Louisiana and morning in Germany – and, sure enough, within twenty minutes he replied: a short text with three spelling mistakes and eleven exclamation marks. I was pretty certain it had taken him all of those twenty minutes to type it.

I called him and could hear his genuine delight when he answered.  
"So nice!" he said, "I am so very happy to hear you! So wonderful! I am worried since you leaved with that very big vampire."  
 _Werry bick wampire_ , I repeated in my head and grinned. I loved his accent.  
"No, I'm fine," I said. "All's well here. The very big vampire is fine, actually – it's Ilaria I'm phoning about."  
"She is not found yet?" Hans-Peter asked fearfully. "It is so crazy to think we see her the very last time!"  
"Can I ask you about that night?" I said. "Stephen said she left a little early. Did she say why?"  
"No, not really. She just wanted to go back to the hotel to make some calls or something. And Stephen and I were talking about German history, so I think she was a little bit bored. So she sayed goodbye and leaved the restaurant. That was it."  
"Did you see her pass the window outside as she left?"  
He hesitated. "I don't think so. I cannot remember to have looked out the window at this time. In But you know, a few minutes later Stephen and I decided to leave too. We think we can catch up with her and get together a taxi but she was gone. We did not think it was a strange thing, we thought she was just on her way back to the hotel."  
I asked the question I really didn't want to. "Was Stephen with you the entire time?"  
"Yes, all the time," Hans-Peter said and his voice sounded confident.  
"He didn't leave you to go downstairs to freshen up?"  
"Downstairs to freshen up? I don't understand."  
"There's a vampire room downstairs. Like a restroom for vampires, didn't you see it?"  
"No, I don't think so," he said.  
"You didn't see it when you went to the restroom?"  
"I did not go to the restroom, I think."  
Wait, now: Hans-Peter was a diehard beer drinker and there was no way he hadn't used the facilities that night.  
"You didn't use the restroom? Not once?" I asked incredulously.  
"Maggie," Hans-Peter said in a gently chiding tone, "I think it is not very nice to talk of toilet all the time."  
He was right but something was wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it.

We made some smalltalk for a couple of minutes before we hung up. I drummed my fingers on Eric's kitchen table, then picked my phone up again and dialled Sookie Stackhouse. In best cloak-and-dagger fashion, I'd saved her number under a fiendishly clever pseudonym: Mary Smith. Original, eh? The phone rang a long time and I was just about to hang up when a child answered the phone:  
" _Herroh_?"  
"Hello?" I said. "Can I speak to … eh… your mummy, please?"  
"Mummy?" said the child and pealed with laughter.  
"Eh … Mom? Mommy? Momma? – "  
"Hello?" Sookie said. "I told you before, Adele, do _not_ answer my phone. Hello?"  
"Hi, Sookie," I said. "It's me, Maggie. Magdalena Kennick."  
"Oh, hi, Maggie," she said. Her tone was, as always slightly cautious, wary.  
"Just a quick question," I asked. "Is it possible to tell over the phone if someone has been glamoured? I mean, can you – you know – read their thoughts over the phone line?"  
"Nope," she answered promptly.  
"How about on Skype or Facetime?"  
"No," she said again. "Sorry. It really has to do with being near the person. Like, physically near. If I can touch them then it's even better."  
I sighed.  
"Thanks, Sookie," I said. "I kind of thought so, but I wanted to check."  
"If you can get the person to come to Shreveport, I can talk to them for you," she said helpfully. "Just not this weekend because I'm helping with the church nativity play and bake sale. But during the week should be okay."  
"The person in question is in Germany," I said glumly. "But thanks for the offer. Have fun at the nativity play."  
"By the way," she said quickly, "did you put up his Christmas tree yet?"  
"Not yet," I said. "I've been busy. But I might do it this weekend as well."  
"Let me know how that goes," she laughed.  
I promised I would. I hung up, put the phone down and resumed my drumming.

Eric cleared his throat.  
"For crying out loud!" I cried out loud.  
"Don't you feel my presence?" he asked.  
"You're in the house. I feel your bloody presence all the time," I complained. "Would you mind making your presence known and not sneaking up on me?"  
"Why?" he said coldly. "If I did, I wouldn't hear things like chummy little conversations between you and Sookie Stackhouse."  
"Yeah, and?" I snapped. "What of it?"  
I brushed past him and went into the living room, where I'd lit the fire earlier. I picked up the poker and pushed the logs.

"And how have you become acquainted with Sookie Stackhouse, may I ask?" he asked with exaggerated politeness, trailing behind me.  
"You may. Pam gave me her number. We asked her to go with me to New Orleans to make some enquiries about Ilaria. So, before you ask, yes, we did go to New Orleans and we did ask around. She's a nice woman, we had a pleasant time, the unpleasant task notwithstanding, and that's all there is to it."  
"And were you not going to tell me?" he said, planting himself directly in front of me. His face was hard and his gaze unblinking. I needed not a single drop of his blood to know he was peeved.

"Because, Eric, you are used to people doing what you want. You won't broach argument or disagreement – and the downside of your little totalitarian dictatorship is that when people need to do something they know you'll disagree with, they do it in secret so they don't have to come up against the immoveable object that is Eric Northman."  
I slapped a hand against the flat of his chest to demonstrate my point.  
"I personally would've told you. Basically, I've come to the conclusion that regardless of what you say, I'll do it anyway if I think it has to be done. So from now on, I'll tell you anything that needs telling. Okay?"  
He stared at me but I stared back, defiant, and continued: "That includes the fact that I'm going to buy you a Christmas tree because this room looks like Ebenezer Scrooge lives in it. There. Happy now?"

I stood back and glared at him. His mouth twitched – then he smiled.  
"We rub along well together, Magdalena," he said.  
I shook my head in disbelief. He always managed to say what I least expected.  
"Yeah," I replied, dismounting my high horse. "I suppose we do."  
His smile widened into a grin. "And what did you think of Sookie?" he asked nonchalantly.  
"She's part _Sidh_ , isn't she?" I asked and he nodded. That explained the attraction. Sookie Stackhouse could've been a wart-ridden hag and she'd still have a pack of vampires trailing behind her. But it wasn't just that.  
"She's … spunky," I said. "I can see why you two got along. She's nice."  
Eric stepped close and put his arms around my waist, pulling my face to his chest. Every time, every single time, I started when I smelled the cold of his skin, the faint scent of sea-salt and icy wind.  
"So you're not jealous, then?" Eric asked and I instinctively knew that some part of him hoped that I was.  
"Yeah, you _wish_ ," I said, cutting that dream short.  
He laughed and I heard it echo in his ribcage, pressed up against my ear.  
"So you're not worried that I'll … cheat on you with her?" he asked teasingly.  
"Eric – " I paused a second and thought about what I was going to say. "Eric, you do realize that I have to leave for the summit in a few days, don't you? And after that, I'm going home to Dublin, maybe on to London from there. What you do with Sookie Stackhouse after that is none of my business."  
My heart sank a bit. It wasn't something I liked to think about and saying it made it feel even worse.

Eric was still. In a living human I would've heard the steady thump-thump of his heart. All I could hear was the tick-tick-tick of his mantel clock.  
"What will you do in Dublin? Or London?" he asked in a neutral tone.  
I pulled away so I could look at him. "Finalise my divorce. Find a job. Settle down. Rebuild my life, my normal life."  
"Your normal life," he said in that same monotone. He moved over to the couch and sat down. I knew he was processing what had just happened between us. I turned my attention back to the fire, slightly annoyed: he knew when I was leaving and it felt a bit like he was trying to guilt me into doing something. But what? He surely didn't want or expect me to stay, did he?

He looked at me oddly for a moment or two, then said: "Why did you ring Sookie this evening?"  
"She can tell if someone's been glamoured," I said, "and I need to know if someone glamoured Hans-Peter and, if so, who it was. Wait – _you_ can't tell, can you?"  
"No," Eric said. "But it's easy to tell, you don't need a telepath for that. Glamouring leaves holes. If you find the hole, you know the person's been glamoured."  
"Like … if some kind of detail is missing?"  
"Exactly. The glamouring vampire will try to fill the hole left by telling them what they should remember, but they will often leave something out."  
"So if a vampire wanted someone to forget they'd been somewhere, they'd just tell them that they'd never been there, perhaps forgetting that that their not having been there might be implausible."  
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Again, and this time making more sense, please."  
"Okay. Say you wanted me to forget that I'd gone to the bathroom. You'd just glamour me and tell me to forget it, right? Well, what if you forgot that I would've had to have gone to the loo, because I'm human and I'd drunk a lot of beer?"  
He ran his fingers through his hair. "Aside from the fact that there's too much grammar in that question, I really did not expect an example with human waste. But the short answer is yes. A vampire in a hurry would do something like that. An older and more experienced vampire – " and he indicated himself, "would not make such a stupid mistake."  
I sighed, a deep sigh that came from the pit of my stomach.  
Eric looked at me thoughtfully.  
"I think you need a drink," he said. "Come on. Get dressed and we'll go out."

Contrary to my expectations, we didn't go back to the strange bar in the antebellum house. Instead, we drove to a nice hotel in Shreveport. As we walked up to the entrance, Eric said, "This is actually business, not pleasure. It's the Shreveport Chamber of Commerce charity auction and I need to show my face as a local business owner."  
"Awww, Eric," I scolded, standing still so my hand in his yanked him back. "You're such a sneaky bastard!"  
He laughed. "One drink, then we'll leave. I have to be seen playing nice to these people. One drink, I swear."

We went into the ballroom and, in the dozens of people standing around, the first person I noticed was TJ's dad, dressed in a suit. He looked very unhappy and before he saw me, I observed him yanking his collar crossly. He was standing next to a handsome woman in a sparkly cobalt blue dress – probably TJ's mother. As we paused in the doorway to get our bearings, Mr Knight spotted us and jerked his head in a half-nod, half-bow.  
I felt Eric's muscles move, the way an animal does before it sets its limbs in motion, and I knew he was preparing to walk away.  
"Come on," I said sharply and tugged his sleeve to make him trail after me. Reluctantly, he did.  
"It's so nice to see you again," I said, turning my smile to full wattage. Mr Knight extended a hand with the same degree of reluctance that was emanating from the vampire behind me. I introduced myself and Eric to TJ's mother, who looked at us with her son's dancing eyes.  
"Nice to meet you, Mrs Knight. I'm Maggie Kennick," I said.  
"TJ's told me all about you," she said and she unlatched me from Eric and led me away to the bar with the effortless charm that she'd passed on to her son. I gave Eric a parting glance and saw the two men standing stiffly, talking in short, curt sentences.  
"Oh, you just leave them be," Mrs Knight said. "And call me Tally, by the way."  
"Tally?"  
"Short for Tallulah. My father loved the name, God bless him, but it's the most ridiculous thing a girl could be called. I've always called myself Tally."  
"Magdalena," I said, pointing at my chest. "My father wanted something biblical. He could've called me Ruth or Mary, but no, it had to be Magdalena."  
Tally laughed in sympathy and then waved at a woman her age a few metres away: "Debbie! Debbie!"  
Debbie waved back and came towards us, towing three other women with her. They were all in their fifties and sixties, moving their hands and hands in short choppy motions as they chattered like a flock of birds. Werebirds. They were all weres: I caught that odd whiff as they approached, a undeniable scent that could not be disguised by expensive perfume or creams.  
"This here is Maggie, she's here with that vampire that runs the bar, the tall one."  
There was a round of "Oohs!" and "Oh, mys!" and the women eyed me with unabashed curiosity.  
"How d'you do?" I said formally.  
"Where are you from, honey?" one of the women asked.  
"And what is a nice girl like you doing with that _awful_ man?"another wanted to know.  
We all looked over. My awful man was surrounded by other men, presumably the cream of Shreveport's local business owners. I was apparently being grilled by their wives.  
"They're married," Tally said. "Vampire-married!"

This earned me another round of astonishment. I was given a gin and tonic, and then I tried to fend off questions as best I could. The women displayed a strange mix of prudery ("Aren't you afraid that y'all will go to _h-e-double hockey sticks_?") and prurient curiosity ("Does he have, you know, one of those torture chambers in his house for kinky s-e-x?"). In fact, they were more curious about what went on (or what they hoped went on) behind closed doors than my mortal soul or the legality of my vampire marriage.  
"Does he want _it_ , like, every day?" Debbie whispered.  
"What's _it_?" I asked. I felt rather pink-cheeked and flustered. "Blood or sex?"  
There was much tittering. I looked around and found Eric. I looked at him pleadingly, trying to signal SOS with my eyes, morse-coding my need for assistance: _blink, blink, blink!_ He took his leave of the small group of men, then came striding across the room with a lazy grin on his face. His approach sent the women all a-flutter, they clutched each other and giggled, hushing one another and tugging the necklines of their dresses to pull them up over their soft flesh, lest Eric be overcome by the need for a snack.  
"The auction is starting. Ladies," he said and gave a small bow, "I hope you will forgive me for taking my consort, but the auction is about to start and I would like to buy her something nice."  
He smiled, showing fang. One of the women gasped and clasped a hand over her mouth.

"You owe me," I said as he strode away, my hand firmly lodged in his. "I've just been interrogated by a bunch of sex-mad were-matrons, all in the name of good vampire-human relations. They all seem to think you're some kind of kinky brute. I should've just taken a copy _of Fifty Shades of Grey_ and read it aloud to them."  
He made it up to me, though, by bidding– and bidding with ostentatious extravagance – on a silk shawl. He'd wanted to buy me a necklace donated by a local store, but I shied away from being presented with a piece of jewellery in front of the good citizens of Shreveport. Instead I chose a hand-painted shawl in vivid shades of orange, pink and purple and Eric bid gallantly, increasing his bid in increments of $100, till it soon became obvious that I was to have the most expensive shawl in all of Shreveport, if not Louisiana. When it was presented to me, I was informed that it had been designed and painted by Debbie, Tally's friend, and if Debbie had had any reservations about her shawl being presented to the vampire sex fiend's wife, they were smoothed away when Eric handed over a cheque for $850 for the children's clinic.

That done, we left, escaping into the cool night air, which I gulped with the same alacrity as I had my cocktail.  
"Well done," Eric said. "You were excellent, I must say. You play the role of dutiful consort perfectly."  
I pretended to push him on to the street in rage and he laughed out loud. Eric shook out the silk shawl and folded it once, twice, lengthways, wrapping it around my neck like a scarf. I was wearing the black coat Pam had bought me, so he tucked it in the neck, under the broad lapels, nodding approvingly.  
"Where are we going now?" I asked.  
"Where would you like to go?" he replied.  
"Can we just take a walk?" I said. It was a clear night, though chilly, and the street was relatively busy, with a lot of people heading in and out of bars or restaurants.  
In answer, he tucked my hand into his elbow and we started to stroll down the street.  
"So why were you asking about glamouring earlier on?" he said.  
I grasped his arm a little more firmly. "Someone glamoured Hans-Peter." I couldn't bring myself to say more.  
"Stephen?"  
I shrugged. "I suppose so," I said. "The only thing Hans-Peter can remember with any certainty is that Stephen did not leave his side all night, even though that's patently impossible."  
"He glamoured this Hans-Peter because …?"  
"I don't know, Eric. I guess he did it to hide something."  
It hurt me to admit it, but then, I was discovering more and more about Stephen that was hurtful.  
"So he did something to Ilaria or he knows who did something to her," Eric summarized.  
He was kind enough not to poke the topic and gracious enough to steer the conversation away to something else. I squeezed his arm again, suddenly glad of his tact.

He pointed out a busy bistro bar that was becoming more popular with humans and vampires so, in the interests of checking out Fangtasia's competition, we went inside and found seats by the window. There weren't many vampires in the place but one or two recognized Eric and acknowledged his presence with a discreet nod. However, the most flamboyant vampire in the place didn't even notice us: he was surrounded by a rapt audience at the bar. He was an incredibly handsome man, with hair as dark and shiny as a chestnut and dark, hooded eyes to match. His fangs were extended and I saw him gently take a woman's hand and scrape them across it. She squealed and wriggled, but didn't pull her hand away; whereupon he laughed and licked her fingertip with a darting tongue. His skin was a dull tan colour, but in life he had probably had a healthy glow. In his undeath he still maintained a certain vitality that most vampires lost when their hearts stopped beating: he was magnetic. Sexy.

Eric watched him, not moving a muscle. The vampire behind the bar was serving drinks with aplomb, handing them over with kisses and lingering, soulful glances. The recipients – male and female – seemed glad to get anything he was offering.  
"This one has been causing problems," Eric said out of the corner of his mouth. "He is indiscreet and indiscriminate. He takes any human's woman who pleases him and seems to have no problem making himself pleasing to them. Other vampires are complaining that he's caused too many fights. It's only a matter of time before he finds himself embroiled in some kind of more serious trouble."  
"Eric!" I said in exasperation. "You never rest, do you? Can we just go out and have a drink without you sheriffing?"  
Eric grinned in reply, then cocked a finger at the vampire in the bar. It only took a second or two for the barman to notice us. He seemed to get a fright when he saw Eric: he said something to the women waiting at the bar, then walked slowly over to our table.

" _Jefe_ ," he said to Eric and saluted him.  
"Alfonso," Eric said smoothly, "there have been reports of some bad behaviour on your part. And now that I'm here, I'm inclined to believe them. What you do in your free time is your own business, but in public it would behove you to remember that the better part of valour is discretion."  
" _Jefe_?" said poor Alfonso, confused – and I didn't blame him. Eric was taking pleasure in being a snooty arse.  
"Don't shit where you eat, Alfonso," I translated. "What the sheriff is saying is that you're causing problems for the entire vampire community by being so free and easy with your customers. I know it's hard when one is as handsome as you are, but do you think you could tone it down a bit at work? Otherwise some thug is going to smash your pretty face in and that's going to lead to all kinds of trouble."  
"Ah, okay." Alfonso said, his face falling. He looked like a child that had been caught doing something naughty. "Is understood, _Jefe_. Thank you, Sheriff. _Muchas gracias_ , Mrs Sheriff," he said, turning to me and swooping up my hand. Before I could stop him, his icy lips brushed my skin. When he straightened up, he gave Eric a humble little bow and did the same for me. Except when he pulled back after his bow, he give me a tiny wink on the side that Eric could not see. I suppressed a grin. He was very naughty, but extraordinarily charming. I had no doubt that wherever Alfonso went, trouble was inevitable.

He returned to the bar and, with some melodrama, sent his flock of fans away and set about actually serving drinks. Without ordering anything, a True Blood and a red wine appeared at our table. Eric didn't even remark on it, in fact, he barely paused the conversation to acknowledge the drinks' arrival. I sighed. My companion was irrepressibly imperious – born of centuries of being top of the social ladder - but I didn't have to be. I smiled and thanked the waitress, who nodded and left us as fast as her legs would carry her. The gesture didn't go unnoticed. Eric waited till the waitress had left us, then reached out and pulled over my hand.

"I have a proposal for you," he said.  
"Oh no," I answered. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"  
"Give me a chance. Just listen and think about it, okay?"  
"Okay," I agreed, with mounting foreboding.  
"Why don't you stay on here in Louisiana? I need a proper consort – you saw tonight that this is the case. You work well at my side, we make a good team."  
"Eric – " I began, but he cut me off: "You promised to listen. You need a job; I'll pay you well. I'll pay you very well. You'll actually get an allowance, not a salary, because for all intents and purposes we will be married. In fact, when your divorce goes through, we should register our civil partnership and make it official for the humans here. Before then, though, I would wish to have a ceremony of symbiosis – we can have it in Dublin, if that would be preferable for your family."  
"Stop, stop," I muttered, "I can't take all the romance."  
"What do you mean?" he asked.  
"Basically, you'd like an arranged marriage, right?"  
He shrugged. "Why not?"  
Bless his innocence, I thought. "It's not a matter of why not, more a matter of _why_? Why should I?"  
"Don't you like me?" he asked and astonishment, then a flicker of – what was it? – disappointment flickered across his face, before his habitually guarded look returned.  
 _Oh God,_ I thought, _why do I always manage to get embroiled in this kind of thing?  
_ "I do like you," I said and squeezed his hand. "But – "  
"But you could grow to love me," he cut in. "I would be loyal to you, faithful. We don't have to be in love, but we could grow to love each other, don't you think?"  
I was physically trying to stop myself squirming. Did I like Eric? Yes, of course I did. I loved his company, his wry humour. He was droll, he was smart, he was good in the sack. Great in the sack. I'd worked hard to not think about having to leave for Dublin and leave him behind; in unguarded moments I'd caught myself wondering if I would see him again after that – or if I _could_ see him again after that. But I'd never considered staying. I never allowed myself to regard him as anything except a kind of weird and twisted holiday romance, in one of the most unlikely holiday destinations.

"Think about it," he said decisively. "Being my consort would afford you more opportunities than any job in the back office of a museum ever could."  
In a way, he was right. My last job involved very little glamour and very few fancy frocks. But – Fangtasia? Shreveport?  
I cleared my throat and said, "Don't get me wrong – Shreveport has been very, eh, interesting but I'm not entirely sure there's much call for an Irish historian or archivist with a focus on 11th-century Europe in this part of Louisiana. Or do you expect me to become a full-time stay-at-home housewife? In which case, I'm just going to say a straight-up no."  
"And what if we moved somewhere more pleasing to you? New Orleans or Baton Rouge?"  
That's exactly what Pam had said. "What are you up to, Eric?" I asked suspiciously.  
He released my hand and leaned back in his chair.  
"Nothing," he said insouciantly. "I'm just thinking that my time in Shreveport might be coming to an end. And if you're going to become my companion, I think we should decide where we will live together. But you think it over," he said quickly as my mouth opened to reply. "All I ask is that you think about it and we can talk it over tomorrow night again. Okay?"  
I agreed. One of his long fingers stroked the delicate skin on the inside of my wrist and I felt a quiver run through me. When I looked at him, his fangs extended and something shot from my solar plexus to somewhere deep inside me.  
"This is unfair," I whispered. "You're not to try to influence my decision with sex."  
He grinned. "Try to stop me," he murmured.  
Yes, indeed: a sneaky bastard.

Eric paid, we went back to the car and he drove us home. He opened the front door, already pulling at the buttons of my coat, I had a hand on his belt and was trying to wrangle it open and kiss him back at the same time. We were too involved with each other to notice anything behind us, but Eric noticed it first. He pulled away from me, hissing, his fangs extended to their full, long length.  
"What's wrong?" I asked and in reply, the hall was flooded with light.  
"Shit!" I shrieked. Flanking the stairway were six men, dressed in black, each holding some kind of large rifle. Eric pulled me behind him and tried to manoeuvre me backwards out the door. He didn't get beyond a few steps: in a blur, someone stepped in behind us and blocked the way. Eric turned, snarling, and we faced a smiling vampire, dressed in the same black as the others.  
"Do not move, Mr Northman," he said in a soft voice. "They are all armed with silver bullets and they could easily take both you and your consort down in a matter of seconds."  
He looked familiar to me: he had been turned in middle age, his hair was thinning and he had a smattering of acne scars across his cheeks. I'd seen him before – but where?  
"Who are you?" Eric demanded.  
"I'm Philip Bowden," he said "adjutant to – "  
"- the king of Texas," I finished. He was the king's lackey, his right-hand man. 'Adjutant' just made it sound nicer than 'general brownnoser'.  
"That's right, Miss Kennick. Delighted to meet you again."  
"The pleasure is all mine."  
Not.

"Why are you here?" Eric said in a low tone. "What's going on?"  
Bowden produced a piece of paper from his inside pocket and unfolded it.  
"In the name of David, King of Texas, I hereby accuse you both of the crime of treason, of plotting to overthrow your liege lady in the state of Texas and of soliciting the support of vampires in Louisiana and in the jurisdiction of David, King of Texas. You will come with me to Austin, where you will be answerable for your crimes."  
" _Treason_?" I said. It was the only word I'd heard in his spiel. "Are you serious? Is he serious?" I asked, turning to Eric.  
"She knows nothing," he said in the same low tone. "Leave her out of it."  
"Is this true?" Bowden asked me.  
"Is what true? What do I not know? What's going on?"  
"Did you know that Mr Northman has been plotting to take over the throne of Louisiana and replace Queen Catherine before the summit begins?"  
My jaw dropped. I'd heard that expression used in books, but this was the first time I'd actually experience the sensation of my mouth going slack with shock. I stared at the Texan vampire, dumbfounded.  
"Don't be ridiculous," I said.  
Bowden clicked his tongue. "Barry?" he called.  
One of the men in black stepped forward and said, "It's true, sir, she knows nothing."  
"Fucking telepath," Eric muttered.

"Very well," Bowden said after a moment of thought. "Take him, leave her here. She can answer to her own empress."  
Before either Eric or I could react, a couple of the guardsmen stepped forward. They pushed me aside and looped silver chains around his neck and hands. The hiss and smell of burning flesh was disgusting. They started to half-pull, half-drag Eric out the door.  
I stood rooted to the spot. He was on the front step before my legs could move – I pushed my way past the men and tried to elbow them aside.  
"I want to speak to him!" I cried frantically. "Leave him alone!"  
"Give her a minute," Bowden said wearily, as though I'd asked for a kidney.  
I bent my head to Eric's.  
"Is it true?" I asked, my stomach turning at the sight of the livid wounds on his neck.  
"Call Pam," he whispered. "Call your empress, call your grandfather. Call in every favour you've ever been owed."  
"Enough," Bowden said and took the chain from one of the guards. He yanked Eric up. As he did so, a van pulled up in front of the driveway and they briskly marched him off. They all got inside, pulling Eric behind them like an errant dog. The side door slid shut with a resounding thud and they drove off, leaving me in the freezing driveway, illuminated by the light of the open front door.

Seconds later they were gone: the neighbourhood was still and peaceful, shrouded in its witching hour darkness. No one had apparently seen the drama that just occurred. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, not wanting to believe I'd just experienced it, either. Then, on shaky legs, I went inside to call Pam - the first of many calls I would make before the sun broke the darkness at dawn.

 _You know the drill: comments are appreciated, simply because it's nice to know that someone is reading this. Otherwise, it just feels like I'm sending this story out into a cyber-abyss ;-)_


	25. Chapter 25

XXV

I scrambled for my phone, kicking the door shut with my heel. I felt sick, my body was racked with tremors, so I gripped the hall table till they passed, and then I rang Pam.  
She picked up on the second ring. "I'm on my way!" she cried and hung up. I wondered briefly how she knew, then remembered that a maker could summon his offspring telepathically – presumably Eric had called her. That was a good sign: he was still alive.

I scrolled through my phone, punched a few buttons and then shoved the door of Eric's office open. I sat down at his desk, no longer caring about the niceties of his privacy, yanking drawers open and rifling through his papers. My phone rang, once, twice, three times. I listened to the steady ring, praying for someone to pick up.  
"Hello?" said my grandmother.  
"I need to talk to Grandda," I said. "Please, Gran, please get him now!"  
"It's happened, hasn't it?" she said in an odd voice.  
"Yes, it has," I said, even though I wasn't entirely sure what _it_ was.  
I heard Pamela at the door, scrabbling to get her key in the lock.  
"In here!" I called.  
"Where is he?" she shrieked. "What has happened?"  
I put my hand up to silence her as my grandfather came on the line.  
"Well?" was his greeting.  
"Tell me what you know about Eric Northman," I demanded. "Tell me whatever rumours you heard."  
"What's happened?"  
"A bunch of vampires from Texas crossed the border and arrested him on behalf of their king. They said he'd been conspiring to unseat the Louisiana Queen in their territory. They've accused him of treason and taken him away with them, presumably to Dallas."  
Pam wailed, an almost animalistic cry that made the hair on my neck stand on end.

"To Austin," my grandfather corrected. "The king's seat is in Austin."  
Then he was silent. Pam shot behind me, trying to press her ear to the phone. I pushed her back and pressed the button to put Grandda on speakerphone. But he continued to say nothing.  
"Grandda?" I prompted. "What did you hear?"  
He sighed. "I have a friend in New York, an old vampire friend called Mr Sutton. He's a lawyer, has been for centuries. If anyone needs any advice about anything, he's the one to give it. He contacted me to tell me that he'd been paid a visit by a young lady with a Southern accent, who wanted to know what the legal implications would be if a Queen was dethroned by one of her subjects."  
"Did she give any names?"  
"Not that Mr Sutton cared to mention – client confidentiality and all of that."  
"What made you think that vampire was Eric, if no names were mentioned?" I said.  
My grandfather paused again. "Because up until now the only way a vampire could dethrone his liege lord was to kill him, and even then there was no guarantee that the other subjects would accept him as their leader. Under the new charter, American vampires will be able to depose their leaders if they can prove sworn fealty from the majority of the other sheriffs in their state and get the backing of three other monarchs. According to the little Southern belle, this rogue vampire has New York, California and the Islands."  
The Islands. Eric had the support of the King of the Islands. I looked at Pam, but she wouldn't meet my eye.  
"So apparently this vampire had his progeny check if he could use the summit to make a move on his Queen and to what extent this takeover would be legal. And if Moya's charter is passed, even in the butchered version favoured by Queen Catherine, he most certainly will be able to make a move to dethrone her."  
So the charter – or whatever was left of the original proposals brought to the summit by our Empress and her legal team – would be passed and immediately tested with a hostile takeover.  
Plucky.  
"But, still," I insisted, "why did you assume it was Northman?"  
My grandfather's voice grew cold, "Because, Magdalena, this vampire's trump card, the ace up his sleeve, was not just the fact that he'd been allying himself with American vampires left, right and centre, but that he'd managed to snare himself a nice little consort, one with connections to the right people in the right places and the kind of name that every vampire of a certain age knows."  
My throat went dry.  
"Me?" I croaked.  
"You," he confirmed. "You were to be Queen Magdalena of Louisiana."

I excused myself, warning my grandfather not to hang up, and pressed the mute button on the phone.  
"Did you know about this?" I demanded of Pam.  
"I … I … he…," she said and tears trickled down her face. "I told him not to, but he said he was being careful. He said no one knew, no one could prove anything. For all intents and purposes, he was simply presenting his new consort to his people, to his _friends_."  
"Like the King of the Islands?" I sneered. "You think no one noticed one of the world's most powerful vampires sitting on stage in your grotty little bar, with his mother? And one of Queen Catherine's entourage, to boot?"  
"They've been some of Eric's strongest supporters and they count among his oldest friends," Pamela said, a tad too slick for my liking.  
"I'd believe you," I muttered, "but millions wouldn't."

I pressed the mute button again.  
"Are you there?" I said.  
"What are you going to do now, Maggie?" my grandfather said. "Will you come home now and just leave that bunch of bloodsuckers to sort out their own mess?"  
"No," I said. Then, more resolutely, "No, I won't."  
"Maggie – "  
"No," I snapped. "I'm going to get him back."  
"You are _not_ ," my grandfather roared, causing Pamela to jump. "I forbid you! I _forbid_ you to get involved in this! By the old rule of law, Northman has committed treason, he'll meet the True Death and if you know what's good for you, you get out of there before someone decides it would be best if your car drove off a bridge or into oncoming traffic."  
"I'm going to get him," I hissed. "And I'm going to do it whether I get your support or not. But we both know my chances of getting back to Dublin alive are a lot greater if you bloody well help me."  
" _Madgalena_ – " my grandfather said in a threatening tone.  
"This is happening," I said. "The only way you can stop is to get on a plane and fly over here. Feel free to do it, Grandda, but in the twelve hours it'll take you to get here, I'll already be in the middle of something very bad. What's it going to be?"  
My grandfather said some very rude words and was immediately scolded by my grandmother, obviously hovering in the background.  
"Fine," he said, resigned. "Fine. Listen carefully then, because what I'm about to tell you, I'll only tell you once."  
So I listened.

I hung up on my grandfather and twirled around in Eric's big chair to face Pamela, who was pacing up and down in front of his desk, her face in her hands. It was funny: when my husband left me, and left me in an entirely mundane way, his wheelie suitcase rattling over the cobble-locked driveway on the way to the waiting taxi, I fell to pieces. I wailed for days; I fell onto my sofa and slept there for two nights because I didn't have the energy, physical or mental, to crawl up the stairs. Now I had just witnessed a kind of violence I was entirely unfamiliar with: I'd seen the man I'd woken up beside that evening bundled off in a van, bleeding from deep wounds around his neck and arms, and yet I wasn't sobbing or howling. Instead, I was filled with a kind of ice-cold intent, a sense of focus, an iron purpose. I didn't want to cry, I wanted to get on the next plane to wherever the King of Texas resided and stick a wooden stake through his eye.

I continued to rifle through Eric's desk while Pam sobbed.  
"What are you doing?" she said as I rattled a locked drawer.  
"I need his address book, his diary," I said. "I need numbers of people, of other vampires who've pledged him their support. I know he has a mobile phone, but he strikes me as the type of guy who would write stuff down. Are you any good at picking locks?"  
Pamela stared at me. Her mascara had run, creating black rings around her eyes.  
"Yes, I am," she answered surprisingly. "I was a whore in my human life; every good whore can pick a lock."  
Who was I to argue? She dropped to her knees in front of the drawer and pulled a bobby pin out of her elaborate hair-do. She twisted it back and forth, then inserted it into the lock. We both waited with baited breath as she wriggled the pin around. Nothing happened. She wriggled a little more, frowning in concentration.  
"There!" she said triumphantly, pulling the drawer open.

It was full of money. Wads of it, tightly wound into rolls and kept in place with rubber bands. I had no idea how much was in it: I picked up one and looked at it more carefully. There were hundred dollar bills – a hundred of them, at a conservative guess. Which was … I did the mental math: $10,000. And the drawer was jammed full of them.  
"Holy shit," I said, dumping them on the desk. "Holy cow. Holy macaroni."  
Pamela was unimpressed by the money. "He has an address book, an old book. It's leather bound. He's had it for decades, for as long as I've known him."  
The drawer was empty, except for a sheaf of handwritten documents in Latin and another language I couldn't read. They looked very old, like contracts.  
I felt around inside, trying to find a false compartment. I knew how the Northman mind worked – and I was right. My fingers found a knot in the wood and when I pushed it, the bottom of the drawer wobbled ever so slightly. I pulled the drawer out as far as I could and removed the wood on the bottom. Underneath it was the leather-bound book and a collection of gold rings. I touched one with my fingertip, saw a name engraved on the inside: _Amélie_. They were wedding rings. I counted them - fourteen. Fourteen wedding rings, in various shades of gold but all the same size, big enough to fit a very large vampire finger. I dropped the false bottom back into place and shoved it closed before Pamela could see what I'd found.

"I've got it," I said, holding it up. She nodded and I started flicking through the pages. The first half of the book was written in ink, the latter half was written in ballpoint pen: pages of names, short notes, telephone numbers and – in the last few pages – email addresses. I recognized Eric's writing, a scrawling mix of lowercase and uppercase letters, showing evidence of several centuries' worth of handwriting styles.

"I'm going to start by phoning Pierre Sauvant, the King of the Islands," I said. "While I'm doing that, I want you to find out where the King of Texas lives or resides or whatever the fuck that undead bastard does, and I want you to figure out a way to get us there as soon as possible. If we have to travel by day, then you'd better make sure your coffin is light-tight. Is that clear? Then you start phoning every other sheriff that Eric has been in contact with, anyone he mentioned that swore him fealty, okay? Tell them what has happened and tell them they'd better be prepared to show their colours or I, Maggie Kennick, will personally hunt them down and make a necklace of their fangs."  
Pam nodded. "Very well," she said and she managed a wobbly smile. She seemed relieved that I was taking charge and I barely stopped to think how odd it was that our roles had been reversed. Ever since I'd met her, Pam had taken particular delight in bossing me around.

"One more thing," I said, "were you the one who went to see the vampire lawyer, Sutton, in New York?"  
Pam shook her head. "It wasn't me," she said. "It must have been – "  
She was interrupted by a frenzied banging on the door, a cacophony of doorbell-ringing.  
"It must have been her," she said, nodding at the hall. "His other progeny. The southern belle."

I opened the front door but I didn't even get a chance to see who it was, so fast did the vampire move. She whirled by me, a mass of black hair and red nails.  
"Where is he?" she hissed, fangs extended. "Where is my maker? He's calling me, I can feel it."  
"Magdalena, Willa," Pam said, "Willa, Magdalena."  
We eyed each other.  
"Who are you?" she demanded.  
"Who are _you_?" I replied.  
"Willa is Eric's progeny," Pam said. "Willa, this is Eric's … wife. Your stepmom, in a manner of speaking."  
I knew she took great pleasure in saying that, even in her state of distress, it made her mouth twist up into an impish smile. I rolled my eyes, pushing past my vampire stepchildren, back into Eric's office where I flipped his book open, trying to read his dreadful handwriting to see who I could phone next. From the hall I heard the sound of Pam filling Willa in on what had happened, heard her start to cry when Pam said he'd been arrested for treason. Meantime, I found Pierre Sauvant's number and dialed it, not knowing whether I was calling his mobile number or his private number at his residence in the Caribbean. I listened to the line click-clicking as it connected, then put the rolls of cash back into the desk drawer we'd taken them from. Then I removed a couple and stuck them in my pockets. Where we were going, a wad of cash was sure to come in useful.

I listened as the phone started to ring; I tried to gather my thoughts to figure out what I was going to say. Ice-cold intent. Sense of focus. Iron purpose. I was Magdalena Maria Kennick, I was the progeny of a long line of vampire killers, and no one, King or not, was going to take my Northman.


	26. Chapter 26

Maybe to make up for showing weakness, Pamela wasted no time being extra bitchy and especially mean to her little vampire sister. I could hear her stomping around in her heels on Eric's wooden floors, snapping at Willa. Now that she had a minion to boss around, order was restored in Pam's universe and she was enjoying it.

Just as I was about to press the disconnect button on the King of the Islands' number, a soft voice said, " _Oui_?"  
"Is this Pierre Sauvant?" I said and quickly corrected myself. "I would very much like to speak to his Highness, King Pierre."  
"It is I," said the quiet voice. "You are?"  
"Magdalena Kennick, I'm…"  
".. . the consort of Sheriff Northman," he finished. "I am sorry to hear of his arrest."  
"It is not legal," I said quickly, trying to remember what my grandfather had told me. "He was taken illegally, according to the fourth amendment of the 1947 Agreement." It came out fast, the words tripping over my tongue. "He has done no wrong, not by old law or new."  
"I see," said the King.  
"Will he have your support?" I asked. There was a desperate tone to my voice, my palms were sweating. The King said nothing. I swapped the receiver to the other ear and wiped the palm of my hand on my skirt.  
"Get him to the summit and he will have my support," he said.

And without another word he hung up.

Pam stuck her head around the door.  
"I've booked us a private plane. The Anubis guys are coming by in an hour to pick up the coffins, the flight leaves at ten. Did you contact the King?"  
"He's in," I said, swooping up my purse and my phone. "If we get Eric back to New Orleans, he'll support him as planned."  
At that moment my phone rang and I glanced at its screen. I didn't recognize the number so I hesitated before I accepted the call.  
"Maggie?"  
"Empress?" I said. Pam's ears pricked up; she came in and shut the door behind her. Clearly Willa took this as a signal that something interesting was going on because she immediately opened it and followed her inside. They stood opposite the desk, staring at me.  
"Yes, it's me. Don't worry, it's safe, no one knows I'm here. I sneaked out and bought a new mobile phone.I'm in a coffee shop near our hotel." She sounded almost proud of herself. "It's called something with 'Star' and they have a mermaid in their logo, so it might be a seafarers' place. They are open all night long, too."  
Hmm. I don't know when I last saw a sailor at Starbucks, but the Empress seemed happy enough with the idea. I could just imagine her sitting gingerly at a little table in the pre-dawn darkness, surrounded by early-morning commuters and insomniac seniors.

"It's nice to hear from you," I said, but I wasn't sure that it was.  
"Eric Northman has been arrested on suspicion of treason," she stated.  
"Good news travels fast," I said grimly.  
"You will go and get him back," she said. "Bring him back to New Orleans and let him make his suit against Catherine."  
"Is that an order?" I asked archly.  
"Yes," she said. To her mind it was simple.  
"I'll do my best."

I meant it. Waiting around for an hour to be picked up by the Anubis crew was far too long for me; I wanted to be doing something.  
"You'll need a lawyer," she said. "I shall send Sonya. She will know what to do."  
"Empress," I said in a low tone, turning my back on the two vampires, "You know that it would be in your very best interests to have Northman on the throne in Louisiana. Please, please, help me in any way you can."  
She was silent.  
"Any string you can pull, any favour you can call in," I continued. "Please."  
I felt desperate. "Please," I whispered.  
"This is not just political then?" she asked. "Is it also personal?"  
I felt a tear roll down my cheek. "Yes," I said. "Please, please help me."

… … …

"I am Magdalena Maria Kennick. I'm the granddaughter of Seán Kennick, of the Empress Moya's entourage and consort to Sheriff Eric Northman of Area Five in Louisiana. I want to see whoever is in authority."

The intercom was silent. I pressed the button again, long and hard, and waited for the crackle.  
"Did you hear me?" I said. There was a quiver in my voice but I hoped it wouldn't be heard over the speaker. There was a second or two of silence, then I heard a mechanical sound, like a whirring engine but rather faint.  
"They heard you," Pam said.  
We were standing outside a large door with reflective glass, Pamela, Willa, Sonya and I. The building looked like a pretty anonymous office complex, lots of glass and concrete. No sign of anyone going in or out, no windows on the ground floor. We only knew it was King David's address because Sonya had turned up with it written in the Empress' own hand. She'd arrived at my door soon after the Anubis reps had dropped me at the hotel and deposited the two coffins next to my bed. I'd hugged her so hard that she'd pushed me away squeaking in protest. Then she pulled a notepad out of her bag and interrogated me, taking careful notes as I spoke.

As soon as the sun went down, the lids of the coffins on my hotel room floor had been flung open with force and the two vampire women had scrambled out, ready for action. I made introductions, then showed Pam the address and she snapped her fingers, ordering Willa to get us a taxi. Within minutes, we were on our way. We'd got out of the taxi in front of the large black door and had spent a couple of moments trying to figure out whether this was where we were supposed to be before I stepped forward and jabbed the button on the intercom.

There was no answer from the box on the wall, but finally the door swung open. Behind it was an elevator – the source of the noise we'd just heard. We stepped inside. I was finding it hard to control my temper. I was simmering like a pot, my energy filled the elevator. Pam stepped away from me into a corner, instinctively holding up a hand.  
"You're too…jittery," she said.  
Willa said nothing. She'd spent a lot of time eyeing me mistrustfully, which only served to make me really feel like I was the wicked stepmother she'd just discovered shacking up with her vampire dad. Not far from the truth, I suppose.

The elevator went up. I had reckoned that the building had about twenty storeys and it appeared we were going right to the top. After a couple of minutes, it stopped smoothly and the doors slid open. We stepped out into a well-lit foyer with beige rugs and beige leather sofas that looked like the reception area of a fancy bank or investment office. I held it in till I approached the desk, then the energy brimmed over and I felt it slip through my fingers, an angry vibration that created discord in the atmosphere. The vampires that had, just minutes ago, been sitting around in their beige leather chairs reading magazines about investment opportunities in the Caribbean all looked up, fangs extended. I turned slowly to face them, sending waves of my rage towards them.  
"Don't think about it," I hissed at one who'd stood up expectantly.  
The receptionist came around to our side of the desk and reached out to touch my sleeve but her hand stopped short. Her smile froze when I whipped around to face her.  
"Ms Kennick? They're waiting for you. Would your associates like to wait here?"  
"No," I snapped. "They're coming with me."

She indicated double doors, covered in embossed leather like a book, with two large plants on either side. The poor girl made as though she would escort us, then thought twice about it and scurried back to the relative safety of her seat behind the desk.

There were six vampires in the room – eight, counting my two. I knew instantly who the boss was, although they were seated around a round table in a poor attempt at democracy. Vampires love a pecking order and even in a horizontal hierarchy there'll always be one a tiny bit more vertical than the others. The table was on a large round dais in the middle of a large room with darkened windows down one side, through which the lights of downtown Austin could be faintly seen. There were more beige leather couches and pots with carefully pruned plants. The lighting in the room was dim, except for a few ceiling spots over the table that illuminated the pale faces of the half dozen below. The vampires watched me enter, and as they all had papers and pens in front of them, I surmised that I had interrupted some kind of meeting.

The head vampire had been turned in his mid-forties. He stood when I entered and casually walked down the steps from the dais to stand and wait for us to approach. I couldn't gauge how old he was, but he was wearing a crisp navy suit with a white shirt. No tie, top button open. Formal but quirky – "Hey, I might be a successful businessman, but I'm cool! I'm down with the kids!" I knew the type. A shithead.

"David DeMarco, King of Texas," he said. "Welcome, Ms Kennick."  
He didn't extend a hand: most vampires will not voluntarily touch a human in this way. That was fine by me, I wasn't inclined to offer him a handshake either. One by one, the other five stood and introduced themselves. I could place three of them as progeny of vampires I knew of or had met but the other two were unknown to me: one was Asian and the other black, which meant that they might have come from territory beyond the Book of the Undead.

"How can we be of assistance to you?" the King asked smoothly. At that instant, I knew that he knew why I was there and he was trying to engage me in the beloved vampire game of 'let's pretend' _.  
_ "You have my vampire," I said in a low voice. "And I want him back."  
" _Your_ vampire?" King David said in a tone of wonderment. "What vampire would that be? I wasn't aware that we had _your_ vampire in our care, Ms Kennick."  
"You are aware," I said.  
The vampires at the table looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Definitely not playing the game, me.  
"It was announced at the reception of Empress Moya in New Orleans," I said. "I'm pretty certain you were there."  
"Oh, _that_ little encounter," he smirked. "That was your official announcement? Oh, dear. Sad days for the Five Families. This kind of thing used to have such a sense of … _ceremony_."  
I stared at him through slitted eyes.  
"And you have reason to believe we have your companion?" he asked smoothly. "What's his name again, this vampire of yours?"  
"I know you have him. His name is Eric Northman and I was there when your men took him."  
"Northman." He turned to his companions at the table. "Is the vampire in custody called Northman?" he said, feigning innocence. Or pretending to be stupid. One way or another, he was doing it deliberately to piss me off.

The only woman among them looked at her notes and said, "Yes, he goes by the name of Northman but he's also been known as Magnusson. He's the progeny of the old one, Godric, of the Danish line."  
"Well, well, well, we seem to have your companion after all," David said with a genial smile. "He's the one we had to take in for attempted treason, as I recall. Do you know anything about this?"  
"No," I growled. "I know nothing about attempted treason because he didn't attempt treason."  
" _Maggie_ ," Sonja spoke up in a warning tone. She approached the King with a polite smile.  
"I am Sonja Helsaig," she said. "Of the Five Families and also the special envoy to the summit on vampire legal matters. We have reason to believe that your arrest had no basis in law."  
King David made a sceptical face, almost theatrical in its cynicism.  
"Hmm," he said again. "A Helsaig and a Kennick. What an honour."

"We want to see him," Pam said, unable to hold it in. "Before this goes any further, I insist that we see him."  
"Yes," I said. "We want to see him."  
Mr DeMarco made a _hmm_ ing noise and I felt the rage rise again.  
Sonja interjected smoothly, "It is their right to see him, I believe."  
King David smiled tightly and said, "Mr Northman mightn't be in the best ... shape for visitors. We've had a very _vigorous_ interrogation session."  
Behind me, Willa made a tiny noise but I pressed my lips together and stared him down. I knew what that meant and it wasn't good.  
"Will we go to him or will you have him brought here?" I asked.

The King sighed a theatrical sigh and crooked a finger again. The female vampire stood up and left the room.  
"Can I get you anything?" he said, conversationally.  
"My vampire," I shot back.  
"Of course, Ms Kennick, on his way. I meant: a juice. Or a mineral water, perhaps? Something sparkling, aside from the conversation?"  
"No, thank you," I said.  
He continued to smile at me, so I moved out of the line of his gaze and prowled around the room. I was aware that all of the vampires were watching me, so I used the opportunity to terrorize their plants, plucking off the dead leaves on a ficus and leaving them in a defiant little heap on the carpet. I pretended to admire one of the heavy oil paintings on the wall until I heard the hum of the elevator. I returned to stand in front of King David, planting my feet firmly on the oriental carpet that ran from the door to the steps of the dais. When the door opened, I didn't look around. I didn't have to, I could feel Eric's presence but it felt odd, somehow off. Behind me, Pamela gave a little sob.

 _Dear God_ , I thought. I was afraid to turn around, terrified of what I would see.  
The King looked over my shoulder and tut-tutted with a pained expression on his face.  
"The _rug_ ," he said to whoever was behind me.  
I continued to stare at him. The vampires on the dais behind him were shuffling their papers, looking elsewhere.  
"Well," he said, in exasperation. "Is that your vampire or not?"

I turned slowly, expecting the worst. Pamela was sobbing, her face was streaked with blood and tears, Willa had turned away, her face in her hands. Sonja looked at me and shook her head. Two men stood to the right of the door, dressed in black combat pants and black t-shirts. Between them, they half-held, half-supported a fair-haired man whose face I couldn't see. I didn't need to see it to know it was Eric. The t-shirt he'd been wearing was flittered, it had been lashed from his body, and his jeans hung loosely from his waist because they'd taken his belt. There was a dark lump of clotted hair on the back of his head. One of the guards held him under the arm to stop him from sinking to his knees, but his other arm was free – and no wonder: his shoulder hung at an awkward angle and it looked dislocated.  
"You have visitors, Mr Northman," the King said pleasantly, as though we were at a social event.  
Eric raised his face. One eye was swollen shut and there were two trails of blood coming from his mouth. He looked at the women and me, but his face was so swollen and disfigured that I couldn't read any expression. But he moved his head a tiny bit, a tiny movement of warning, raising his chin to signal that I was to buck up.

I spun around to the King.  
"Was this really necessary?" I asked. " _Really_?"  
"Why, yes," he said in mock surprise. "We have zero tolerance for vampire crime here in Texas. I don't know what you guys let your vampires away with, but here in Texas we run a tight ship."  
"This is unacceptable by the laws of the new Charter," Sonja said firmly.  
"Good job we haven't passed it yet then, isn't it?" David countered icily. "See how effective my methods are?"

I felt Pam move before she actually did; or rather: I felt her intent and I grabbed her arm in warning.  
"Bastard," she hissed, pouncing forward. "I will – "  
The woman vampire on the dais shrieked and total chaos broke out. I clung to Pamela, trying to pull her back. Willa, sensing what Pam was about to do, moved forward to grab her, too, digging her heels into the carpet as she yanked arm. Eric said something, tried to say something, the King shouted for help and the doors burst open. Three more armed men stomped in and surrounded us quickly, their weapons trained at our heads.  
"No, Pam," I said stiffly. "Not another word."  
That's all I needed, another vampire threatening to kill a sovereign. She fell silent, wiping a bloody hand across her even bloodier cheek.

The large room suddenly seemed rather small. We stood facing one another, not sure what to do next. King David, the host with the most, cleared his throat to say something but he didn't get the words out: the receptionist appeared in the doorway and squeaked, "Your Highness, you have company, sir."  
"Who is it?" David asked irritably. "I'm busy, can't you see?"  
"It's a Mr Seán Kennick," she said timidly. "And he's here with the Vampire James Sutton."  
I whirled around in shock. In the doorway stood a tall black man, flanked on either side by people in suits. I strained to see who was behind them but I didn't need to peer for long. The tall man stood aside and my grandfather stepped forward.  
" _Salve_ ," he said in traditional greeting. He grinned at us all pleasantly and whacked the floor with the silver tip of his walking cane. I recognised it: he had used it to stake seven vampires back in the days when that what the Five Families did. I knew this because when I was a child, I counted the notches on its side and rubbed the smooth spot my grandfather had left for number eight. And right now he was looking around the room as though he were trying to decide who would earn that notch.


	27. Chapter 27

"Is that really James Sutton?" Sonja whispered eagerly. I shrugged: no idea. I'd only heard of James Sutton for the first time the previous night and, to my shame, I'd immediately pictured him as an overweight old white man. Instead he was of African origin, as dark as I was fair, as tall as Eric, but more powerfully built, with a booming voice that filled the room.  
"James Sutton," he said, nodding at the assembled vampires who had, in the meantime, all stood up, confused and flustered by the turn of events.  
"My associates," he added and gave a broad wave of his hand to indicate the five other vampires who were standing behind him, already looking around for places to set up their laptops.  
King David made a gesture to the guards holding Eric up and without even a glance in my direction, they hauled him off. I started to follow him but my grandfather's bony hand held me back.  
"May I ask – ?" David DeMarco begin but Mr Sutton cut him off with his loud voice.  
"I am here to represent Miss Kennick and the entire Kennick family," he announced. "Mr Kennick and I have been good friends for decades. I have been given to understand that you've taken Miss Kennick's vampire?"  
"Miss Kennick's vampire" King David said, "is a traitor. We have reason to believe he was planning to overthrow the rightful and legitimate ruler of Louisiana, Queen Catherine."  
"And have you proof of this?" Sutton boomed. "Aside from the fact that no crime has been committed on your territory, do you have proof that a crime was committed in Louisiana?"

I looked over at Sonja; her face was rapt. This was like a dream come true: internal vampire politics in action. The next thing that would happen was that they would start referring to some musty old Charter or Agreement or Amendment - blah, blah, blah -  
James Sutton must have heard my thoughts.  
"And may I remind you," he began dramatically, turning to look at me and Sonja (she nearly swooned), "that the Americas have no formal constitution per se and are operating under a ratified version of the constitutional Charter of the 1947 summit, agreed upon by the Old Emperor Charles, and you are thus subject to its laws and bylaws, including the provision of peerage for the Five Families?"  
At all of this legalese, Sonja quivered. I just looked from Mr Sutton to King David, back and forth, waiting to see who would flinch first.  
"This is not relevant at this point in time," De Marco said snootily.  
"I beg to DIFFER!" Mr Sutton shouted. "It is ENTIRELY relevant. Mr Corcoran: the Constitution, if you please!"  
One of the Sutton team rushed forward with an iPad and Mr Sutton started scrolling. It would've been a lot more dramatic if it had been a parchment, a roll of vellum, but he made up for it by scrolling with the very tip of his long and tapered fingers, as though flicking through the pages of a book.

Pamela tugged my sleeve discreetly.  
"Brilliant and all Matlock might be," she whispered sarcastically, "don't you think we should go and see to Eric?"  
I turned to my grandfather and he nodded. "Once they get out that fecking document, we could be here for hours," he said _sotto voce_.  
Pamela and I walked towards the door as quietly as we could, but we were followed by King David's female companion, who scuttled out into the waiting area behind us.  
"Can I help you?" she asked. "We weren't formally introduced. I am Isadora Carlos, King David's deputy."  
"We're going to see Mr Northman," I stated. I didn't feel like making it a question or request.  
She paused, hesitant. The vampire behind the reception desk studiously looked away.  
"Very well, then," she said reluctantly. "I'm sure he'll be called up to testify soon anyway. It might be best if he were ... tidied up a little."  
Pam stiffened in rage beside me and I grabbed her arm to calm her down.

We marched through the lobby, Isadora walked in front of us with long strides. The waiting vampires made no attempt to be discreet: they were positively agog. In the elevator Isadora straightened up and smiled at us, a stiff, polite smile and then cleared her throat.  
"David has worked very hard to restore order in Texas. For a long time it was known as the state with the biggest vampire population and the highest level of vampire crime. He has worked wonders turning things around."  
Her soft, southern voice had a note of pleading to it. She wasn't apologising exactly but I could tell she was hoping we'd soften a little. Fat chance. The image of Eric's bloody mouth made me jittery and sick. Pam's silence was palpable.  
"It was unnecessary," I repeated. "Where I come from, we don't resort to this level of violence."  
"We don't resort to it where I come from," Pamela hissed. "Across the border in Louisiana."  
Isadora, who looked like a fussed elementary school teacher, gnawed her lip and didn't reply. She pressed the elevator button again, probably in the hope that would make it go faster. Luckily for her, the it came to a stop and no further discussion of DeMarco's interrogation techniques were necessary.

Isadora put on a pair of leather gloves, which confused me till I saw her turn the silver handle on a metal door. We stepped into a long, brightly-lit corridor. There were six cells: the three on the right had bars of silver, the ones on the right had steel bars. For humans, I realised. But what were the Texan vampires doing with human prisoners? We walked down the short corridor to the last cell. Eric sat on the floor, his back against the wall. There was nothing else in the cell except a wooden bed frame with a thin mattress.

Isadora tsk-tsked, fished a key out of her pocket and opened the cell door.  
"Why are you sitting on the floor, Mr Northman?" she said as though his sitting slumped on the floor was a source of embarrassment to her, as though he'd done it on purpose to be wilful or stubborn. She and Pamela lifted his tall frame and gently put him on the bed. He looked up at me and mumbled something through his bloody mouth. He'd been de-fanged: I clamped a hand over my own mouth to stop a cry.  
He mumbled again: "Thank you."  
Pamela moved in and began to feel his hands, his arms, ascertaining his level of injury.  
I stepped closer, afraid to touch him. Apart from his swollen face, he'd been whipped and he was wearing something around his neck. I stepped closer: a silver collar.  
"Get it off," I cried and pulled at it. He winced and Pamela scolded me, an angry hiss. I felt for the clasp and removed it, throwing it on the floor with a clatter. Isadora had the good grace to look shameful. Eric turned his face away from me and I knew he was ashamed of his missing fangs. It was the worst punishment you could inflict on a vampire: it rendered them powerless, emasculated them.

I looked at the back of his head instead: what had appeared to be a wound was just a patch of matted blood, possibly from his mouth. I touched it gingerly and he turned his face even further from me. I felt like crying. I lay a hand on the shoulder closest to me, the good one, and brushed a lock of hair out of his swollen eye.  
"One, two, three – " Pam said and just when I realised she was counting, she popped Eric's arm back into its socket. "Good as new, old friend."  
He groaned.  
"You need blood," I said. "He probably hasn't been fed, right?"  
Vampires heal much, much faster than humans but it doesn't mean they don't feel pain. A beaten face and a whipped back is no less painful for them than it is for us, it's just not as painful for as long – but without sustenance, healing takes longer.  
"I don't know," Isadora said stiffly. "Probably not."  
Without looking at me, Pam snapped her fingers. When I didn't react, she whipped around and said,  
"Maggie, your blood!"  
"How?" I whispered, embarrassed.  
Eric looked away. Pam rolled her eyes, grabbed my arm and pulled me in. With no ceremony and no warning, she dug her fangs into my neck, then plopped me down on the thin mattress next to Eric.  
"Drink," she said to him. "Bleed," she commanded me.  
He moved closer and started to suck my neck. It hurt more than it ever had before and tears of pain started in my eyes. I was glad Pam was searching her handbag so I could blink them away without being seen.

Pamela produced a little packet of wet wipes, took one and handed the packet to me. I hesitated before I took them, but something in her eyes told me to get on with it. I pulled one out then dabbed very gently at the wound on Eric's cheek that had caused the eye to swell shut. In the meantime, he took one and slowly wiped the blood on his chin. As he did, he instinctively turned from me again, as though he were trying to hide his mouth, his shame. That upset me more than anything else: in the past, vampires had punished the wayward few by defanging them, but it was a custom that had fallen into disapproval. In an enlightened age, it was like putting a human into the stocks or nailing an ear to a post, just much, much more brutal ... but apparently Mr DeMarco liked it Old School.

Eric finished feeding, patting my back gently. I used a wipe to clean the wound on my neck. He stood up and moved his arm carefully.  
"Good as new," he pronounced grimly. Pam grinned at him – he was acting a little like the old Eric.  
Isadora, who was leaning against the wall of the cell, cleared her throat and said, "I'm sure Mr Sutton will like to see Mr Northman again, so maybe you'd like to wait here till you're called. You know, we feel it is in everyone's best interests to clear this matter up in a transparent manner."  
Translated, it meant that she and her buddies had realised that they had picked the wrong vampire to torture. This one was _connected_. This one had friends in high places. This one had ... a legal team.

She left the cell, leaving the door demonstratively open.  
Eric waited till she had left. "Do you have weapons?" he asked Pam urgently.  
"Yes," she said. "Lawyers. _Ugh_."  
"Are you _serious_?" he asked incredulously.  
"Didn't you notice? Lawyers and her granddaddy," she elaborated, nodding derisively at me. "Welcome to the New World Order, Eric, this is what happens when we have _laws_."  
She spat the last word out in disgust.  
He turned to me. "They have no proof that I ever conspired to dethrone Catherine," he said. "You've spent a lot of time with me – did you ever hear me say that I wanted the throne of Louisiana?"  
"No," I said uneasily, remembering the meeting with the King of the Islands and his mom, the strange colonial-style bar with all of the pledges of loyalty – but, no, he was right. No one had ever actually said it.  
"See?" he said. "No proof, the Kennick is my witness."  
He moved his head from side to side and gingerly touched a bruise on his cheek. Already it was turning the yellow of an old pear, healing fast with my blood.

The door of the basement opened and Isadora appeared again, this time with an armed escort.  
"You are requested," she said stiffly.  
She handed Eric back his watch, belt, shoes and a folded t-shirt. He took the remains of his shirt off and I turned away, nauseated by the welts on his back. When I looked up again, he was standing by the door of the cell, using his height to stare down at Isadora in a very threatening manner. She gulped and led the way. Eric walked in front of Pam and me, trying not to limp. When I glanced at Pam her face was set and unreadable. I tried to make my face look the same.

There was a short hearing in King David's conference room. I was made to swear on the _Book of the Undead_ that Eric Northman was, indeed, my blood-sworn vampire (hissed intake of breath from my grandfather) and that at no point had he ever mentioned plans to take over the queendom of Louisiana. King David's telepath confirmed that I was not lying, Mr Sutton pretended to be affronted at the idea that a member of the Five Families could ever lie, I tried to look innocent and inoffensive. Eric, now looking much pinker and less battered, testified that I was his blood-sworn human and that he had never expressed a desire to become king of Louisiana -  
"But you _thought_ it," David snapped. "I'm quite sure you thought it."  
"Well," said my grandfather in his jolliest of voices, "if you were to put someone on trial for the things they thought to do, there wouldn't be a person in this room not guilty of murder."  
And he smiled a broad smile, showing his new dentures, and fingered the ridges on his walking cane.  
King David was silent.  
"I would never presume to make a move on the Louisiana throne," Eric said smoothly, "Unless rightfully voted for by the vampires of the state."  
He smiled a closed-mouth smile to hide his missing fangs.

"There we have it," Mr Sutton said. "As far as I and my legal team can see, this case is effectively closed. There is no evidence to prove Mr Northman intended Queen Catherine any ill-intent and no reason for King David to get involved in a matter outside of his territory, except as a display of friendship towards the Queen – am I right?"  
He turned to David, nodding jovially. David sulked.  
"And as the Five Families and their vampires are assigned special status in the European imperial territories, Miss Kennick is free to take her vampire back if she feels he has been unlawfully held."  
"He has," I said firmly.  
"Awesome," said Mr Sutton.  
He turned to the Texan vampires and, bowing slightly, tapped the inside of his left wrist in the usual gesture of vampire subservience but in a way that was practically disdainful. He shook my grandfather's hand, then Sonja's (she blushed) and then mine. It was a vigorous shake: one pump, then two, then he dropped my hand like a lump of silver. He clicked his fingers and his crew hurriedly gathered up their papers and electronic devices, then he strode out of the room, pausing only before Eric to look him up and down.  
"Good luck in your future endeavours," he said, a hint of a smile around his lips. "I'll send you my bill."  
Eric nodded in agreement.

"There we go," said my grandfather. "We'd better head on, I have an early flight."  
He said it with all of the ease of someone invited over for coffee and cake. Pamela marched out, Willa and Sonja in tow. My grandfather hooked his hand in my arm and we made for the door. Eric walked up to King David and bowed his head a little, so he was looking into his eyes.  
"You had better hope I never become King of Louisiana," he said pleasantly. "Because if I ever do, I'll be coming for you."  
With that, he walked out and we scurried after him.

... ... ...

"No," said my grandfather. "There'll be none of that, now. She's married."  
We were standing at Eric's hotel room door and he'd opened it to let me go in. In fact, I was just turning to say goodbye to my grandfather when he yanked me back and smacked me on the back of the hand with his cane.  
"To _someone else_ ," he said, in case Eric didn't understand.  
"We're getting divorced," I said, blushing furiously.  
"And when you are divorced you can get up to all kinds of jiggery-pokery with this fella but not before," he snapped and led me away down the hall. I looked back over my shoulder at Eric, whose mouth was slightly open in astonishment. I shrugged, helplessly.

My grandfather made me take the couch while he settled into the huge bed. I wasn't tired, which was probably a good thing because I had to hear about how he'd taken a taxi out to Dublin airport and flown first-class to Austin on the Empress' ticket. He'd sat beside some comedian from the telly who was not funny and the flight attendants had given him a beer. I struggled to stay awake till he finally nodded off, but as soon as I did I flew down the corridor to Eric's room. To my disappointment, he was not alone. And to Pam's disappointment, I hadn't stayed with my grandfather.

"Will one of you please tell me what the fuck just happened?" I spat. "Are you really planning to take Catherine's throne?"  
"Of course not!" Eric said, while nodding vigorously.  
I was confused. He and Pamela pointed at the ceiling, the walls. Aha, bugged again. Damn those vampires and their penchant for eavesdropping.  
"I would never dream of overthrowing Catherine," he said smoothly, while he and Pam nodded again. Eric pulled the notepad off the desk and scrawled.  
 _I'm going to take her down  
_ "I have always been her loyal subject," he continued, his pen scratching across the paper. He held the pad up.  
 _Have the support of the majority of Louisiana sheriffs, will take the throne by legal means at the summit  
_ "I wouldn't dream of challenging her authority," he finished.  
 _Scratch, scratch, scratch_ went the pen.  
 _If that doesn't work, will stake her and claim throne as my own. Have a Kennick as my consort, so have support of your Empress. One way or another, I'll get it.  
_ I turned to Pamela and she raised an eyebrow, giving me a smug little smile. I grabbed the notepad out of Eric's hands and wrote,  
 _Is this what this has been about all along? Have you just been using me to get your bloody throne?  
_ I was so upset, my hands shook and I had difficult forming the letters.  
Eric shook his head. _No, no._  
Pamela stood up. "In a manner of speaking he has," she said out loud, disregarding any ears that might be listening in. "What on earth did you think this was?"  
"You're a shithead," I said as Eric stood, a hand reaching out placatingly. "And no, don't even think of following me to my room or I'll use my grandfather's fucking cane to stake you myself."

I tried to slam the door but it was one of those stupid soft-close ones so it just silently whooshed closed. As I stomped down the corridor to my room I could hear Eric and Pam shouting in Swedish. The only word I understood was 'Sookie.' Or maybe it really was 'sucky' this time. One way or the other, I'd had enough of the whole damned mess, the entire state of Louisiana and anything to do with any creature that identified itself as undead.


	28. Chapter 28

My grandfather was in the restaurant, his plate piled high with food. He loved a free breakfast. Except I was sick of telling him that it wasn't actually free, just included in the price of the hotel – but he didn't care. He was about to saw through a small mountain of pancakes, out of which he had made a volcano of maple syrup. He was one happy octogenarian.

"You look like something the cat dragged in," he said. I harrumphed and pulled over the coffee pot.  
"That nice little Dutch girl has arranged for your vampires to be picked up after breakfast. I hope they're stowed away in their coffins, ready to go."  
I didn't know how Sonja – respected and highly-qualified lawyer with a specialisation in international vampire law – would take to being referred to as the nice little Dutch girl, and I told him so.  
"Her name is Sonja," I said. "Don't call her that."  
"Well, she's very nice and short and from Holland and she's a girl," my grandfather said. "What's the problem?"  
"She's from the _Netherlands_ and she's a _woman_ ," I corrected.  
"The nice little Dutch woman then," he said crankily. I was spoiling his pancakes, which was probably the reason why he snapped: "And what has got your knickers in a twist this morning?"  
I hesitated, knowing I would regret telling him but unable not to.  
"Turns out Eric is planning to take over Louisiana," I whispered. "And he was using me as a pawn. Vote for me and get a Kennick free! She's cosy with the European empress, we'll have more clout on the American council!"

My grandfather looked at me, agog.  
"Of course he did," he said. "It's about the only clever thing he did, that fella."  
"What did he do?" Sonja asked, sitting down between us. She placed a plate of pancakes in front of her, nearly as full as my grandda's.  
"The blond one was using her as leverage to get Louisiana," my grandfather said sotto voce, pretending to dab his lips with a napkin.  
"Quite right," Sonja said. "Catherine doesn't stand a chance. There are enough old vampires in Louisiana who'd be impressed by something like that."  
"Does it not bother either of you that he was _using_ me?" I hissed.  
They looked up from their pancakes.  
"What did you think he was doing?" Sonja asked, genuinely surprised. "You surely don't think it was true love, or something, do you? I mean, he's a _vampire_ , Mag."  
"Have we not told you time and time again that human-vampire relationships do not work?" said my grandfather. "Am I not blue in the face telling you that?"  
In fairness, he had. Everyone in my family had. It was the way things were: nice to work for, the vampires. Interesting to work with. Symbiotic relationship? A wonderful business arrangement. But feelings? Ugh, no.

"I know," I said, subdued. " But he didn't even tell me about his plans."  
"That's the only other clever thing he did," my grandfather said. "Or else you could've been up for treason as well."  
He cut a corner of one of his pancakes and pushed it towards me. I took it and nibbled it.  
" _I_ couldn't be arrested for treason, could I?" I asked.  
"No, no," said Sonja. "Not at all. But one dark night your car would go over the bridge and end up in the river. Oopsie. Should've had those brakes checked."  
"Or you'd get mugged on the way home from the supermarket, knifed in the chest by a thief who'd forget to steal your money. Dear me," added my grandfather. "What a pity."  
"Or you'd be found electrocuted in the bathtub. Silly you, trying to dry your hair while you're having a bath," Sonja said  
"I get the picture," I admitted weakly.  
"So what are you going to do?" Sonja asked. "The Empress would like you back in New Orleans before the summit begins."  
"I'd prefer to just leave now and go back to Dublin with you," I said, turning to my grandfather. It was the most tempting option: packing my suitcase while Eric lay in his coffin, walk out the door of the hotel and on to a plane. Gone – no big emotional fights, no recriminations. Just memories of a few nice shags and a brightly-coloured scarf as a memento.  
"Well, you can't," he said firmly. "For one, I'm staying on for this summit. I was there for the Second Council, so I might as well stay for this one as well. Me and Ardelean will be able to catch up. And secondly, you're not running away to hide from this. You gave Moya your word that you would represent the family at the summit, so that's what you'll do. Yourself and that great big Viking oaf will have to sort yourselves out but you'll do it in private and not make a holy show of us in front of the rest of the community."  
He applied himself with gusto to his pancakes. I turned to Sonja for support but she looked at my grandfather and nodded. That was settled then. We were heading back to Louisiana as one big happy family.

I watched the Anubis reps loaded my vampire stepchildren's coffins on to the little wagon that could transport them smoothly and silently out of the hotel.  
"We'll be back for this one," one of them said, indicating Eric's. "It's too big to go with the others."  
I sat in the hotel room beside his coffin – if you could call it that. It was a long oblong case, kind of like an expensive hardshell suitcase. I wondered if Eric would respond if I knocked it – you know, the way sailors might do in a submarine, tapping the walls. My hand hovered over the case, then I pulled it back. I wasn't looking forward to talking to him, so waking him up would definitely not be in my best interests.

The room was neat, with little evidence that three vampires had spent the night there. On the sideboard there was a neat, folded pile of what looked like linen napkins. Bloody linen napkins. Clearly they'd all had a bite to eat – maybe that's where Willa had been when I'd called in, off ordering vampire takeout. I wondered who the human had been, then stopped myself wondering. For them that human had simply been a bag of blood, a midnight snack. Involuntarily I shuddered. At that moment, there was a knock on the door and the Anubis guys came back in. They lifted the coffin on to the wagon, straining more this time, and assured me that my vampires were in the best of hands. I smiled without much feeling and thanked them.

It turned out that I'd been expected to send the vampires back to Shreveport on the same private plane that had brought us to Austin and return to New Orleans with Sonja and my grandfather. With some difficultly I explained that I had to go back to Shreveport and, at the very least, get my things.  
"You want me to sort this out with my Vampire oaf, didn't you?" I asked my grandfather. "Well, I have to do that before I go to New Orleans. I'll be down tomorrow. I'll hire a car and drive down for the evening."  
Reluctantly he agreed and I waved goodbye to them at the gate, before wandering over to the section for boarding the small plane that took us back to Shreveport. I sat alone between the coffins, drinking the coffee offered to me by the sole flight attendant. I watched Eric's coffin sway slightly as the plane moved in the wind and I thought about what had happened between us and what was to come.

... ... ...

The coffins were laid out in Eric's living room, side by side. It kind of creeped me out, so I went back to my preferred place, the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea and a sandwich to pass the time till sundown. And barely had the sun's rays dipped behind the horizon when I heard the noise of a lid being tossed aside and, seconds later, Eric appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.  
We stared at each other, not sure what to say.  
"Thank you," he said finally. "For - for whatever you did."  
"You're welcome," I answered politely.  
He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat opposite me. Under the table, his knees almost touched mine as he looked for a way to arrange his long legs so they wouldn't kick me. The bruising on his face had faded and the ring of red around his neck where the silver collar had been was much less livid. I tried not to look at his mouth or remember the bloody gaps where his fangs had been.  
"I didn't – " he began. And stopped himself. "Nothing that happened between us, when it was just us, nothing that happened – "  
He stopped again. I stared at him, aware that I was making him squirm. So I raised an eyebrow and watched him wince.  
"That was all real," he said finally. "I do like you, Maggie. You know that. You know we could be more than lovers. You must feel that between us."  
"Monarchs?" I supplied archly.

He reached over to grab my hand but I put it under the table. I wasn't going to be distracted by blood-bond electricity; I wanted to concentrate on the conversation.  
"This was offered to me by a contingent of sheriffs who are unhappy with life under Catherine," he said. "I wasn't interested in taking it till you came along, then I realised how easy it would be to achieve it with you at my side. And the more I got to know you, the more I realised how well we could work together."  
"Very opportunistic," I remarked.  
He ignored my snark. "I would be a loyal husband, Magdalena," he said. "I have always been a loyal husband – "  
I thought of the fourteen wedding bands in his secret drawer. A wave of sadness washed over me, thinking of all of those poor women down through the ages. Long gone, only their names etched on the inside of a gold ring to remember them by.  
"You would be richer and more powerful than you could ever imagine," he said. "Is this not what everyone wants?"  
"Living a life in darkness?" I asked gently. "Dealing with vampire affairs every night, vampire politics, vampire diplomacy? Far from home; no family, no friends. A husband who will eventually grow to love me, if I'm lucky. One who can't sire children – "  
It was a low dig. Eric winced as though I'd delivered a blow.  
"- one who will watch me grow old and then bury me before he moves on to the next woman. No, it's not what everyone wants, Eric. It's what _no one_ wants."  
"Shall I make you vampire, then?" he asked eagerly.  
I laughed – bizarre to laugh under the circumstances, but there it was. "No, thank you," I said. "I'll pass."  
"So that's it?" he said. "It's over?"  
I nodded. "I will support your claim to the throne, but I'm not to be used as part of the deal. I've told you a dozen times that I'm leaving for Dublin on the 26th, directly after the summit. So if you get the throne, it's on your own merit."

I stood up. "I'm going to pack my things and leave in the morning.  
Eric stood as well, so I extended my hand.  
"Thank you for – well, thank you for the nice time. The mostly nice time. Excluding the, you know, the incident with kidnapping and torture."  
He took my hand and pulled me in.  
"No," I said warningly. "It's not like that – "  
He wrapped me in his arms, pressing my face to his chest. I breathed in the smell of his t-shirt's wash powder, the fabric softener and underneath, when I concentrated, the salty sea and the faint whiff of sweet apples. He was already bending to kiss my hair, my neck and I was trying to push him away.  
"One night," he was murmuring. "One night, all you will give me is one night."  
"No, I will – "  
"One," he whispered, his fingers wriggling under my shirt, stroking the skin on my back, up to the strap of my bra. He tugged it, testing its resistance. I arched myself into him, even as I was saying, "This is just not a good idea, I think we need a clean break - "  
He lifted me so his groin was level with mine, then kissed me again, pressing his hardness against me, moving his hips in a motion that had become all-too-familiar to me.  
"Aw, Eric," I said, exasperated.  
" _Kom igen,_ " he said in Swedish. "Come on," he wheedled. "One night."  
I could feel his phantom pulse, the thing I shouldn't feel in a vampire. It had been a few days since I'd had his blood, but his proximity was making a lot of things confusing and unclear.  
 _One night? What was one night, in the grand scheme of things?_ I thought flippantly, but an undercurrent of thoughts was rushing through my consciousness like a river:  
 _you wanted a clean break, this won't make it easier, get up and leave, go and pack your things_  
But I ignored them.  
"One last night," I agreed.

Eric grinned, turned on his heel with my hand in his and left the kitchen at such speed that he almost dragged me behind him. When he opened the kitchen door, he slammed into Willa and Pam, causing them both to yelp.  
"Go home," he said shortly. "To your own homes. As your maker, I command you to leave – _now_."  
"We're leaving," Willa said. "We just wanted to say goodbye to Maggie."  
"Bye," I said through the banisters, scurrying up the stairs behind Eric.  
"So glad you're friends again, Eric," Pam said slyly, as she opened the front door. "We do so hate to see you and Mommy fight."  
Eric rolled his eyes but we could hear her laughing as the door whooshed shut behind her.


	29. Chapter 29

I lay beside Eric and felt his phantom pulse. His hand lazily stroked the top of my head. I didn't know what time it was, but I guessed it was after 4 a.m. I struggled to keep my eyes open.  
"Is there anything I could do or say to make you stay?" he asked into the silence.  
I considered the question carefully.  
"No," I said and, bizarrely, added, "no, thank you," as though he'd offered me sugar for my tea.  
He stretched and I felt the muscles of his chest move beneath my fingers.  
"I will miss you," I said.  
"I will miss you, too," he replied.  
"Will your blood wear off?"  
"Eventually," he said.  
"So until then, I'll ... feel you? Even across the ocean?"  
"Probably," he said.  
It was the worst break up ever: a bruised heart plus a blood bond that would just have to wear off. Eventually.

"Dawn is coming," he whispered and pulled me close. His mouth found mine and we kissed again, his fingers raked my back gently to show me what he wanted, as if my hips didn't already know. I lay back and let him move over me, grabbing a hank of blond hair to pull his head down so I could hide my face in his neck. I had made the right decision, I was certain of that, but as he pushed inside me I couldn't help but doubt my own certainty.  
It made no sense at all.

Xxx

Eric stood at the door in the predawn gloom. A trickle of blood ran from his ear.  
"Get inside," I hissed.  
"I'll wait till you've left," he said.  
"I'm capable of waiting for a taxi on my own," I said, looking towards the eastern sky where the first faint rays of light were climbing the horizon. "Please, Eric, go inside."  
He hesitated and I bounded back up to the house to plant one more kiss on his cheek.  
"Go inside," I insisted and gave him a gentle shove, pulling the door shut before returning to the sidewalk. It felt like I was the only living creature around: no birdsong, no insects, in the chill December air. The only thing I could hear was the sound of a rattling car coming around the bend in the road. Barely believing my eyes, I saw Sookie Stackhouse draw up at the curb.  
She rolled down her window.  
"Well?" she called. "You getting in?"  
I turned to look at the house but there was not even a twitch of the curtain to indicate that Eric was watching what was going on. Nonetheless, I made a _"What the fuck?"_ face at the door before rolling my case to the trunk of Sookie's little car and, with great difficulty, shoving it in.

I got in on the passenger side. There was a little child strapped in a car seat, blond as her mother, sucking earnestly on a pink pacifier. She looked at me curiously.  
"Maggie, meet Adele. Adele, meet Maggie."  
The child removed her pacifier and said, "It's dark."  
"It is," I agreed.  
"I take it Eric didn't tell you I was coming to pick you up," she said curtly. The car tore off down the road of the gated community at a speed much higher than the demure 20 miles an hour demanded of its residents.  
"Eh, no," I said. "I asked him to book me a taxi."  
"Yeah," she said. "One thing you gotta learn about Eric is that he's a sneaky b-a-s-t-a-r-d."  
Like I didn't know that already.  
"Why did he ask _you_ to pick me up?" I asked. Sookie was looking straight ahead, not making eye contact with me, just checking on her daughter in the mirror.  
"So I could put in a good word for him – you know, persuade you to stay on here in Louisiana and be his _queen_."  
She injected a lot of disdain into that last word.  
"Why you?" I wondered.  
"He thinks we're friends," she said. "Dumb vampires don't understand the complexity of human relationships."  
It nonetheless seemed a bit tactless to me, even for a vampire. Eric was smart, and all inability to understand the workings of the human female aside, even he would understand how weird it was to make me have this conversation with his ex-lover, what with all of their complicated history.  
"But why you?" I repeated. "You, you of all people seem to be last person who would want me to be with Eric Northman."  
"Why do you say that?" she snapped, momentarily taking her focus off the road and swinging around to look at me.  
"Because you still want him," I said. There, I said it. It hung in the air between us, like something that could be swatted, batted away.  
"I don't," she said finally. "I told you that already."  
"Doesn't seem like that to me."  
"I have a lot of his blood," she said. "It could take years till everything ... fades away. You'll know what I mean."  
I said nothing.  
"I don't want him," she said resolutely. "But his blood has left something like a fingerprint on my heart. It takes time to get rid of it. Do you know what I mean?"  
"Yes," I admitted. I was not looking forward to living with the Viking's big bloody fingerprints all over my heart.

She indicated and the car swung dangerously to one side.  
"Wheeee!" cried Adele.  
"We're nearly at the car hire place," Sookie said, all business. "So I gotta pitch him to you. He's offering you a great opportunity. That's what he told me to tell you."  
" _Whoa_ ," I laughed, breaking the tension. "You're really selling it, girl!"  
Sookie smiled. "What can I say? There was a time I would've given anything to spend a lifetime at his side. Sure, it was a very short time, but nonetheless. I think of him as a friend, at the end of the day, and I think you should reconsider his offer. "

She pulled up outside the car hire office, a place with a single lit window and a lonely clerk inside.  
Sookie grabbed my arm.  
"I can hear what you're thinking," she said. "I know how you feel. But he likes you and he will be loyal to you, we both know it – if you don't mind him snacking around, that is. You would be good for him, you'd be a good balance to his worst excesses. He needs someone to control him and God knows, Pam will only egg him on for her own amusement because she doesn't like the political animal he's become. I'm afraid that without you, and without all the protection your fancy-schmanzy connections brings, he's a sitting duck in Louisiana."  
I hadn't thought about it like that.  
"I know you hadn't thought about it like that," Sookie said.  
Damn, she was spooky.  
"I know I'm spooky," she continued, "but just listen to me: Eric Northman is my friend and I want him to be happy. More than that, though, I want him to be safe. So if that means you have to stick around and help him rule Louisiana, that's what you gotta do. Get me?"  
She leaned over me and opened the door.  
"The handle sticks," she said but we both knew she was booting me out.  
"You're weird, Sookie Stackhouse," I said. I knew she could hear me think it, so it might as well be out in the open. "But I still kind of like you, nonetheless."  
She grinned back, a gappy grin, one of the rare smiles she gave me that had any real warmth.  
"Back atcha, Maggie Kennick," she said and I slammed the door shut.

The car pulled away and the little girl waved at me from the back seat. I waved back and went inside to get my car.


	30. Chapter 30

I drove straight through to New Orleans and arrived just before lunchtime, by which time the effects of Eric's blood were beginning to wear off and I was feeling tired. Oh, so tired. I pulled in at Queen Catherine's convention centre and handed my rental to a valet, telling him to have it ready for pick up later that day. The place was buzzing: armed guards were patrolling the sidewalk outside and other human visitors were disembarking from large buses and and being shepherded inside. The place was festooned with dozens of national flags and some of the flags and banners of the old vampire nations. I saw the Asian emperor's flag (white, with three red circles representing the three blood territories under his reign) and recognised a couple of the old African kingdoms' flags. Slightly to the side was the flag of the European and North African territories, the red cross on a white field. Its remembrance to the Templar cross was not an accident, the difference being that the cross of the vampire flag had, in the past, been represented in human blood. I noted with interest that it held no central position in the display and took it as another one of Catherine's subtle snubs.

The foyer was as busy and jostling as the outside of the hotel, so I had to wait in line till a receptionist was free. When I handed over my passport, she glanced at me sharply before turning her smile to full wattage.  
"One of Empress Moya's party?" she said. "One moment, please."  
She signalled to one of the security men standing around the foyer. He said something into his mouthpiece and stepped forward.  
"Ma'am," he said, not troubling to remove his dark glasses, "Please follow me. I will escort you to the Empress's suite."

I should've been on my guard, of course, but I was exhausted and, in the midst of the hustle and bustle, it didn't seem entirely unlikely that individual members of various entourages might be reunited with the rest of their flock as quickly as possible. The security man took my bag, which I gladly handed over, and strode off. I followed, hot on his heels, stepping into an elevator marked 'Staff Only' behind him.  
"The place is packed," I said, unable to quash my Irish need to make small talk. "You guys must be run off your feet."  
"Sure," he answered equably and checked his watch. I got the message and shut up for the rest of the short ride. When we got out, I found myself in a silent corridor with slightly shabby carpets and a line of doors side by side. It looked nothing like the opulent decor of the Empress's original suite, back when we first arrived in New Orleans. Disquiet mounting, I turned to the security man, but he just grabbed my arm and opened one of the doors, pushing me inside. The room was pitch dark, he was backlit only by the light of the corridor outside.  
"Hey!" I yelped.  
"Where is Northman?" he asked. It wasn't an ice breaker, a segue into pleasant chitchat, it was laced with an underlying threat.  
"In Shreveport," I said, my throat going dry. "He's not with me."  
"I can see that," the man sneered. "When will he get here?"  
"I don't know," I replied honestly. "Some time tonight? I really don't know."

He leaned towards me and instinctively I shrank away, but not far enough out of his reach: he grabbed my handbag and peeked inside, looking – I presumed for my phone.  
"Hey!" I shouted again and tried to grab it back off him. He shoved me hard, sent me flying backward to land on my butt, and before I could scramble to my feet he had shut and locked the door, leaving me in total darkness. I outstretched my hands, feeling for the walls. It was obviously a light-tight vampire room, but there had to be a light switch somewhere – and, within seconds, I found it. The room was flooded with a harsh neon light and I blinked till I could take stock of my surroundings. It was pretty small, not much bigger than a large closet, and the only item of furniture – if it could be called that – was a plain wooden coffin on the cheap laminate floor. There were, of course, no windows, no pictures on the walls, no bathroom – no bathroom! I gingerly lifted the lid of the coffin, fearing the worst, but it was empty.  
"Hello?" I shouted. "Hello?"  
I banged the walls, the door, till my fists hurt but there was no reply. Finally, exhausted, I lay on the floor beside the coffin and tried to sleep. After a while, I faced an inevitable choice: padded coffin or hard floor. With my heart in my throat, I crawled into the coffin and tried to make myself comfortable on the stained satin. I was so tired, so defeated, it wasn't long until I fell asleep.

I was woken by a flood of light. I shrieked at the vampire face leaning over the side of the coffin.  
"Wakey, wakey," he said.  
I had no idea what time of the day or night it was but as he yanked me out of the coffin I caught sight of his watch – it was just before 7 pm. I'd probably slept for six or seven hours and the pain in my back attested to a long sleep in a narrow coffin.  
"Marley," he said and pointed a thumb at a female vampire behind him. She looked quite young and a little nervous. "This is Devorak. You the Kennick?"  
"Yes, I am. Why am I being held? Does the Empress know I'm here?" I demanded, trying to sound braver than I felt.  
He snorted with amusement. "Where's the Northman?" he asked.  
"I don't know," I began. But I did. He was in the building somewhere, I felt his presence, the underlying pulse of his blood.  
"Is he here?" the vampire Marley asked.  
"I don't know," I repeated stubbornly.  
"Call him," he said.  
"Yeah, right,- " I began sarcastically but he cut me short by whacking me across the face. For the second time that day, I was knocked to my feet, but this time I banged my head on the edge of the coffin. I sat on my rump, winded, and looked up at him in astonishment. I was entirely unused to physical violence and the violence of what had just happened to me had, literally and figuratively, taken my breath away.

He pulled me to my feet again, and wiped my cheek with his fingers. When he removed them, I saw they were covered in my blood.  
"Mmmm," he said, licking his fingertips. "Precious. I can see your appeal. Carrier, are you?"  
He held me out for the other vampire to taste. She approached me cautiously, and as I twisted and wriggled in Marley's grip, she tried to touch my bloodied face. A smear of red brushed the sleeve of her white blouse before she finally managed to stroke my cheek and lick it off. Her eyes widened as she turned to Marley.  
"Carrier," he said. "They taste of what they've eaten. Of course, a lot of them only eat the shit humans like nowadays, but you can train them to take what you ate and they taste much better. This one's not bad – apple, something sweet – "  
"Nutella?" asked the female vampire.  
As I suspected, she was young. Young enough to remember the taste of Nutella anyway. She leaned in for another lick, but the older vampire held me at arm's length, the way you keep a cookie out of a toddler's reach.  
"Call Northman," he said again.  
"No," I said and he hit me, this time an open-palmed slap across my cheek. I gasped, my eyes stinging with tears. The female vampire held out my phone.  
"Call him," she said, her eyes bright and voice quivering at the smell of my blood.  
"No need," Marley said. "That's enough to bring him running. All we have to do is wait."  
He smiled at me, leaning over me. I tried not to shrink beneath him as he came closer, closer. I could smell him, he smelled of -  
"The steppes," I said aloud. I didn't know what I was seeing, some grassy plain, I smelled death – something rotting. "Horses, wild grass. No rain for a long time," I continued. "They all died."  
He pulled back from me, startled.  
"I can smell you," I hissed. "I can know you, vampire."  
He hesitated, then leaned in, so close I could feel the hairs on his upper lip against my cheek. He licked my face, licked it clean, while I sat rigid beneath his tongue, feeling his fangs graze the skin of my face.

The vampire Devorak was watching us, mesmerised, her baby fangs extended.  
"Go downstairs as quickly as you can," Marley said. "Tell her highness that we'll need more back up. The Viking will come and he _will_ be angry."  
He patted my cheek with something akin to affection.  
"When we've dealt with him," he said to me, "I'll be back for dessert."


	31. Chapter 31

XXXI

I frantically wiped my cheeks with my sleeve, trying to remove any trace of Marley's tongue. I was so skeeved out, I almost rubbed my skin raw as I pressed my ear to the door, trying to hear anything outside. I didn't know how Eric had managed to get into the hotel without being apprehended as I had been, but I knew he felt what had happened: beneath my rising panic, I felt an angry _thump-thump-thump_ that was not mine. I tried to calm myself, think happy thoughts, put myself in a zen place. If I could calm down sufficiently, Eric mightn't have the good sense to simply stay put, wherever he was.

Still stuck to the door, I tried to figure out what was going on and it didn't take me long to make a good guess: Queen Catherine knew that as soon as the charter was passed, Eric would challenge her rule and, under the new constitution, would probably win. So she was simply going to kill him or have him killed before the charter was even signed. And as she clearly hadn't managed to get him before he arrived in New Orleans by legal means – and, to be fair, a charge of treason was a fairly good stab at it – she was going to take matters into her own hands and simply stake him before the opening ceremony. Under the old laws, she was within her right, as he was challenging her authority and, as a sheriff of her domain, needed to be brought to heel.

I heard muted voices outside and I stood on my tiptoes, as though that might help me hear better. I tried counting voices – there were at least half a dozen outside.  
"Stay, Eric," I thought, "Stay where you are."  
Because I knew that no matter how old or strong Eric was, there were limits to how many vampires even he could take on. And I had no doubt that Queen Catherine's troops were equipped with state-of-the-art vampire killing equipment. I took deep breaths to calm myself.  
"Stay, Eric. Please stay there. Just stay," I mouthed, not daring to even whisper the words with all of the vampire ears outside.  
Suddenly, I heard the creak of the elevator doors opening and there was a momentary commotion, a flutter of activity. I thumped the door as hard as I could.  
"Eric!" I shouted. "Go away, Eric, _go_!"  
But there were no shots, no screams. Instead, the door was flung open and the Empress stood on the threshold, her hair bound neatly around her head in a plait, wearing a long skin-tight dress that only accentuated how wiry she was. Tiny but very, very scary. Behind her was Carl, her personal guard, and three others in her livery.  
"My carrier," she said and grabbed my wrist. "My entourage. _My human_ ," she hissed at Marley, who stepped aside, his head bowed.

In the elevator, I started to shake – real shakes. Moya grabbed my hands to steady me but instead my knees started to knock.  
"Where's Eric?" I asked through chattering teeth.  
"In my room," she said. "I have extended to him my sanctuary."  
"How did he get in?" I asked – a strange thing to worry about at that point in time, but I wasn't quite thinking straight.  
"Your vampire can fly," she said. "He probably came in through a window or through the roof."  
"Or down the chimney like Santa Claus," I said and laughed. Good grief, I was hysterical. I caught Carl's eye and saw him try to suppress a grin.  
"How did _you_ find me?" I wanted to know.  
The Empress smiled.  
"Eric said you were in the building and he knew they'd hurt you. We could only persuade him with great difficulty – " (" _Great_ difficulty," Carl emphasised) "to stay put. Then Carl found you."  
Carl was grinning openly now.  
"But how – ?"  
"A baby vamp went through the lobby with your blood on her clothes," he said. "Once I had your scent, it was easy."

Then I remembered: Eric had flight, Pam had – what did she call it – her deadly wit? But Carl's talent was his prodigious tracking. The Empress still had some vials of my blood: he'd probably got some to sniff or taste and after that he simply had to wait till he picked up my scent somewhere in the hotel. Easy-peasy.  
"Thank you, Carl," I said simply. He looked proud as punch.  
"No problem," he said casually.  
"Empress," I turned to her, holding her hands in mine, "I have to tell you about Stephen Hofmann. I think he killed Ilaria. I have no proof –" out of the corner of my eye I could see the elevator was nearly at the ground floor, I had only seconds left, " – you shouldn't trust him. I don't know what he's up to but I think he means you harm."  
She squeezed my hands in return. "Stephen has defected. Yes," she said, seeing my disbelief. "I am liable to think he may have removed Ilaria to move up the chain of command. But when I didn't promote him, he probably thought he had better chances at Catherine's side."  
"Queen Catherine?" I whispered.  
"Did you never think it odd how well-informed she was?" Moya smiled sadly. "Mr Hofmann is only loyal to whomever will get him what he wants."  
It reminded me of what Eric had said about him: Stephen Hofmann didn't choose the right side, he chose the winning side. Even if it meant killing one friend – Ilaria – and lying to another. Me.

We strode through the central lobby and the Empress made no effort to make eye contact with any of Queen Catherine's staff. She did not take the elevator, but ascended the wide stairs followed by me, the bodyguards and the members of her entourage that had been sitting on the sofas in the foyer. We were silent and together there were enough of us to make a small troop. A little battalion. And that's what was happening, I realised, the battle lines were being drawn. People – human and vampire – stood aside on the stairs to let us pass and a small group of Asian vampires inclined their heads as Moya walked by.

She pushed open the door of her suite and in the crowd of people assembled there – my grandfather (furious), Pam (livid) and Tomas Ardelean (curious) - I saw Eric stand up. He pushed past the little throng of people around me and bent to hug me, then immediately recoiled when he saw my swollen face and smelled the other vampire. His fangs popped out and he snarled, "Who was it?"  
Moya put a hand on his arm.  
"Northman," she said. "Be calm."  
He opened his mouth to argue but she stood on her toes and angrily flicked his forehead with her fingertips. To my astonishment, he reluctantly knelt in a show of genuine humility, looking over his shoulder as he did so. Pamela, Willa and two other vampires came forward and knelt beside him.  
"You will challenge the bitch," she said. "In the old way. _Aut neca aut necare, daemon_."  
Willa, kneeling beside me, looked up. "Kill or be killed," I said softly, meeting my grandfather's eyes.  
Eric's head remained bent. _"Incepto ne desistam,"_ he replied soberly.  
I felt a catch in my throat. "He wishes not to shrink from his purpose," I whispered. Willa nodded and bent her head as the other vampires in the room – the ones that spoke Latin, at least – murmured,  
 _"Incepto ne desistam."  
_ "Go," she commanded. "Take the ballroom, you will have a degree of privacy there."

Eric stood and bent to kiss me as he passed.  
"Stay," he said.  
"No," I replied and made to follow him, but he gently pushed me back.  
"Stay," he said over his shoulder and pointed at my grandfather.  
"This is vampire business," my father said. Sonya appeared beside him and gasped at my face. I didn't know what I looked like, but I knew it felt like shit and it couldn't have looked much better.  
"He could be killed," I said, feeling helpless. "What if she stakes him?"  
" _Aut neca aut necar,"_ my grandfather said. "That's the old way. This is probably the last time they'll settle territorial disputes this way," he said wistfully. The room emptied, leaving only a handful of humans – me, my grandfather, Sonya, Ardelean, Silvia, the Empress's maidservant and a few other members of her entourage.  
"Maggie, please," he said, as I tried to push past. "This is no place for a human. This is a vampire affair."  
"They will fight to death," said Tomas Ardelean suddenly. "If she want to be his consort, she be with him when he die or be with him when he live. This is the old way."  
Oh, God. I didn't want to be his consort but I also didn't want to see him die. What if Sookie was right, what if I was his human shield in the midst of this vampire coup? What if -  
I didn't get the chance to dither any more. Tomas Ardelean lifted his cane and poked me with its silver tip.  
"What do you say to this?" he asked.  
"That I may not shrink my purpose," I said resolutely, echoing their Latin battle cry, and left the room at a run.

The guards wouldn't let me through the large doors in the lobby, the ones that separated the human riff-raff from the vampire realm behind it. The lobby was packed with curious bystanders – mostly human, so I figured that the curious vampires were already in the ballroom, waiting eagerly for bloodshed. Most of them relished a good staking and I'm sure plenty of them were going to make use of this last foray into barbarism before the Charter forced them all to behave like civilised beings.  
"I have to get in there," I said. "I'm with the Empress."  
"No humans beyond this point," the guard said.  
"For fuck's sake," I said desperately, "I'm the Northman's consort. I belong in there."  
The guards looked me up and down. "We are blood-bonded," I said. "I'm Magdalena Maria Kennick, one of the Five Families, I belong with them. With him," I said firmly.  
"She's his consort," a voice behind me said. It was Sonya. Others standing nearby agreed: my public hitching to Eric Northman had made an impression and there were plenty to vouch for me. Reluctantly the guards looked at each other and opened the door a crack. I slipped under one of their arms and ran in.  
"Good luck!" Sonya called after me.


	32. Chapter 32

XXXII

The ballroom was full but completely silent, that eerie vampire silence. When I pushed open the door, they all turned to look at me. Eric stood at the front of a group of vampires, facing Queen Catherine, who had her own group behind her. His back was arched, his fangs extended as far as they could go, his pale face streaked with blue veins. He didn't turn to look at me but he knew I was there; he simply growled a low growl that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He had never looked less human to me than he did at that moment and if the full gravity of being the consort of a creature of the undead had never fully occurred to me before, it certainly did at that moment. I suppressed a shudder, waited with the door closed at my back to see what would happen.

"The die have been cast," said Moya, who was standing on the dais, surrounded by about thirty other vampires.  
 _"Alea iacta est!"_ repeated a voice in Latin, the lingua franca of the old vampires of the group. I saw it was the portly vampire that had turned up in Shreveport with the King of the Islands. He appeared to be the MC of the evening because he took centre stage and boomed, "Hear me, You Majesty, hear me, Mr Northman: how do you call it?"  
Eric snarled and Catherine spat at him in return. The King of the Islands stepped off the dais with his easy-going, sloping walk, and took his place behind Eric. He shook his dreads back off his face and dipped his head to the side, watching Catherine with his inscrutable expression. A second vampire, one I recognised as the King of New York, followed, hand in hand with the ancient child that ruled California. David DeMarco, king of Texas, placed himself behind Catherine, followed by the Queen of the Pacific States and the king of Oklahoma, all looking grim as death. As I called it, Eric was in the lead: New York and California were far more powerful and more populous. And the little girl who ruled the latter state was as old as Eric and, as the rumours went, one of the most ruthless vampires in the country.

Another vampire made to step of the dais but the MC held him back.  
"Ecuador, this is a regional matter," he said jovially. "The North Americans must figure this one out themselves. Any more?" he said, turning to the others. "Canada? Dakotas?"  
The vampire governor of Canada shook his head. He was known to eschew violence of all kinds and was not going to have one last bloody blow-out before the signing of the charter. Dakotas – whom I had last seen when he'd had his fangs in my neck, back in that other lifetime when Moya was carting me around the country canvassing for votes – winked at me as he stepped in behind Eric. He looked positively jolly at the prospect of bloodshed, cracking the knuckles of his fingers with delight. A few more vampires took sides, but it quickly became apparent that Eric's side was larger.

"How do you call it?" the older gentleman called into the crowd assembled around the sides of the room. Some of the vampires declined to move, others took sides. To my mind, a lot of them had waited to see which side would be bigger and aligned themselves there – something I felt was confirmed when one or two vampires moved out from behind Catherine and moved silently across the room to join Eric's ranks. There was a movement from behind the hulking king of Oklahoma and then suddenly Stephen stepped forward.  
Eric raised a hand. "Move not, vampire!" he called in a warning tone. Looking deeply unhappy, Stephen stepped back in behind Catherine. As he did so, his eyes met mine. I gave him my best look of disgust before I turned my back to focus on Eric.

"How do you call it?" the old man called one last time. I realised with a start that quite a few people in the room were staring at me, including Pam, who was glaring at me through slitted eyes. I looked to Moya for help and she made the tiniest move of her head. I stepped away from the door and walked across the silent room, aware of every breath I took and how darned loud I exhaled. With Pam at his right and New York at his left, I placed myself at Eric's back, with Willa moving aside to let me stand directly behind him. Eric extended his left arm backwards, as though he wished to shield me, clicking his fingers at Willa. She stood closer to me, taking my warm fingers in her icy ones. She looked into my eyes and I into hers. She was as scared as I was.

The man on the dais counted, "One, two, three!" and there was a scream, an animal howl. A blur of colour as vampires moved forward.  
"Only her!" Eric roared.  
Something inside me jumped and jerked and I moved forward with the others. Bloodlust. Centuries of Kennicks, armed with stakes, banged somewhere inside me and I ran forward, fists balled, ready to find a target.  
But Willa pulled me aside.  
"No, not you," she said. "My maker will not have it. I will protect you."  
We heard a terrible scream and watched the little Queen of California rip out another vampire's eyes.  
"Only her," Eric's voice rang out. He had Queen Catherine in a stranglehold, trying to hold back the stake she was aiming at his neck. The other vampires were inflicting injuries on each other that would have killed a mortal: eye gouging, scratching, discounting limbs.  
"I have to help him," I said to Willa and loosened myself from her grip. I ran forward, darting between the writhing bodies, trying not to slip on the blood that had spilled on the shiny floor. Just before I reached Eric, I felt something loom above me and look up –

\- It was Stephen. My last thought, before he stuck his fangs in his neck, was, "He can fly!"  
Like Eric, Stephen could fly. Unlike Eric, Stephen had made sure that no one know would know, a little party trick, an ace up his sleeve. He was sucking hard at my neck and I began to feel quite faint.  
"The face at the window," I whispered.  
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric turn to look at me, still struggling to hold the Queen at bay. She was spitting blood, his face was covered in splatters of her red rage. Stephen continued to chomp down.  
"The face at the window," I repeated. Stephen stopped for a second.  
"What?" he asked me, straining to hear. I looked into his eyes and pulled the chain from around my neck, the one that held Eric's fang. Without hesitation, I stabbed him in the eye with it. He pulled back, howling with rage, and I jumped at him, using the tooth like a little stake, jabbing his neck, his cheek, anywhere the flesh was soft. He stumbled backwards, then tried to launch himself at me again, one hand covering his injured eye. Willa whooped and put herself between us, yelling when Stephen grabbed and yanked her arm out of its socket. I continued to claw him, insane with rage, leaving tiny pinpricks of blood on his face.

I heard a bloodcurdling roar and saw Eric pin the Empress down. Pamela grabbed a chair and whacked it forcefully off the floor till it splintered, then threw him one of its legs. I saw the improvised stake being raised in the air, then the entire room collectively paused and watched it slash down, once, twice. The Queen disintegrated, her blood spraying the dignitaries on the dais and the vampires locked in combat around. Almost instantly, the fighting ceased, except for Stephen, who knocked Willa aside with a vicious punch.  
"I apologise for this," he said to me and drew his upper lip back so I could see his fangs. I held up my arms to shield myself, closing my eyes. In a heartbeat – mine, the only heart working in that room - I felt myself splattered with something cold and when I opened my eyes, Eric stood before me, his face a mask of blood, his clothes dripping with the Queen's innards.  
"It is over," he said and raised his arm. In his fist he held Stephen Hofmann's head.

"The Queen is dead, long live the King!" the gentleman on the dais called. The vampires who fought for Eric stood, the others went down on one knee as an acknowledgement of his victory.  
"Deaths?" the vampire called. They looked around. The extent of the injuries were horrific – no doubt the former Queen's blood reserves would be sorely hit this night – but they were all still standing.  
"Good, good," he said. "Well done. Good fight, good fight."  
The vampires who had excitedly watched the whole thing clapped politely. I felt slightly stunned by what had just happened, not least when I saw the king of New York pat the dejected Queen of the Pacific on the shoulder and tell her she fought well.

"Your new King, Louisiana!" said the older gentleman. Eric stood on the ground beside the dais, making them the same height. Pamela, bloody but beaming proudly stood by his side. He gestured that I come over, so I left the injured Willa and stood between him and Pam. The MC raised his arm as though he'd one a boxing fight. The Louisiana vampires present put their forefinger and middle fingers on their left pulse and swore allegiance.  
"Your first action as King?" said the older gentleman.  
Eric, still high on his blood rage, surveyed the room. "Step forward the vampires who tasted my consort!" he shouted.  
From the back ranks of Louisiana vampires, the vampire Marley slinked forward, followed by Devorak. She could barely walk, her leg had been broken and her face had been beaten badly.  
Eric stepped forward, picked up the bloody stake that had finished Queen Catherine.  
"My liege lord -," protested Marley.  
Eric swiftly staked him, then turned to the woman, who was weeping tears of blood.  
"No, Eric!" I shouted sharply. "She's young."  
He turned slowly, stake raised, and looked at me. I shook my head. A second or two passed and he lowered the stake.  
Devorak turned in my direction, "Thank you," she whispered, "my lady!"  
I looked away.

He returned to the dais and gave a sharp bow to the Empress and other Emperors, who returned it with nods of their heads, and then we left, a broken and bloody group that left red footprints in the carpeted hallway. Eric shoved the wooden doors to the lobby open and we were met with a wave of noise: cheers, gasps, cries. He grabbed my hand and we took the stairs as quickly as we could, the others scattering to their rooms. Eric hesitated for a minute, then continued up the stairs till we entered the corridor that housed the Queen's suite. When he pushed open the doors, her attendants looked up in horror and many of them started to cry.  
"Get out!" he cried and they left, gathering up what they could. Eric waited till they were gone, then slammed the door behind them, locking it with a deadbolt. He turned to face me. He looked like a monster, but then again, covered in Stephen's blood, so did I.

We sat in Catherine's enormous bathtub. Sorry, _Eric's_ enormous bathtub. We had both had to shower twice just to sluice the blood and guts from our skin and hair. Now we were sitting up to our necks in soapy bubbles, not saying anything.  
"So it is done," he said finally.  
"You're King."  
"And you're Queen."  
"I can't be Queen, I'm not vampire," I replied.  
He tipped me with a large foot. "I'm King. If I say you're my Queen, that's what it will be."  
I shook my head. "That's not the way it works, Eric. Besides..."  
The word fell into silence.  
"...Besides, you're leaving after the charter has been signed," he finished. His shoulders seemed to slump and he pretended to be busy shaping the bubbles into some kind of form. Suddenly he looked up, reached his hand across the bath and took mine. I felt his pulse shoot up my arm, the judder of connection.  
"One year," he said. "Stay with me for one year until my position here has been solidified. If you still want to leave after one year, I will let you go. I promise."  
I tried to stare him down, but his gaze held mine.  
"One year?" I asked.  
He nodded.  
"Very well."  
It was a huge concession, my parents were going to kill me, my ex-husband would die of horror, my grandfather would scold me till my ears fell off – but that was okay. Eric was lying back in the bath, blond hair falling in his eyes, grinning from ear to ear.  
"Hail, Queen Magdalena!" he cheered. I banged my fist in the water and splashed him with soapy water.  
"Shut up," I said. "King Northman."


End file.
